The Model
by FerryBerry
Summary: AU. Kurt hires a new model for his burgeoning fashion company, and Rachel is immediately smitten - but is Quinn Fabray too good to be true?
1. Part 1

**Disclaimer:** All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators.

**A/N:** I am not going to be updating for an undetermined amount of time for reasons explained on my Tumblr, so I'm adding a few things that have thus far only been on there for your enjoyment in the meantime.

**Part 1**

Rachel was in oddly and remarkably good spirits for someone who had just ended a seven year relationship - on and off, of course - two days ago. In fact, she felt amazing. Light, bright, happy-go-lucky. Like her freshman year of high school all over again, before she met Finn Hudson and fell head over heels in love and, for the next seven years, bounced between being with him and not being with him, chasing after him and being chased by him. She was free. This time, it was final. This time, there was no going back.

Finn was moving back to Lima, Ohio - slowly, but surely. He couldn't really afford to stay in New York City without Rachel's star power money to support him. And he didn't really want to stay in a city where she was beloved by anyone who had been to see a Broadway play. Which, chances were if they lived in NYC, they had seen it - or the posters - or the stolen videos on YouTube. So he'd been moping about the apartment the last two days while he packed his things and slept on the couch.

And Rachel was taking her day off to get away from his pouting face and do some shopping. She might've felt poorer for Finn had she not felt so good for herself. So good about being free from that toxic relationship that made her into someone she really didn't like. Someone who was narcissistic, spoiled, even unkind at times. And it made Finn into someone he shouldn't like, though she doubted he'd spent that much time on self-reflection. Lately, he'd been more content to whine about his position as the 'wife' while she brought home the bacon.

So it was time, and Rachel felt great about it. That was how she knew it would _finally_ last, and she felt like doing something good. Something generous. Something just lovely and sweet to somebody, and who better than her best friend?

She waltzed into Kurt's new studio around twelve o'clock with a brown bag of his favorite dish from his favorite deli down the street, waving to his partner in crime, Dante, on the way. Kurt had taken a chance and split off from Vogue about two weeks after graduation with the money his father loaned him from the tire shop, opening up his own design company with a new good friend he and Blaine had met club-hopping one night about a year after they married. Kurt made the designs, Dante made the clothes.

Rachel had advised him against moving so quickly at first, suggesting he at least work on it part time and keep his job at Vogue, or invest the money to let it grow some before he plunged into something that might not pan out. But to her surprise, things had been going pretty well for Kurt and Dante. They even had an advertising budget and had drawn a contract with a freelance photographer; Lainey was there today, in fact, cleaning her lenses.

Rachel offered a quick wave to her as well and pushed open Kurt's office door, holding the bag out first. "Good afternoon!" she sang.

Kurt glanced up and in a whirlwind of movements, made it across the room to pull the door shut after her and grab his lunch bag. "Oh, my God, I love you, thank you, you're the queen of everything - I hired a model."

Rachel blinked. "You just started interviewing a week ago, how did you already - "

"I know," he said, biting down on his sandwich as he spoke. "But she is _so beautiful_, Rachel, it'll make you cry, I swear to God. Plus, she's willing to work half the price she was paid at her last job until we get things off and running. She's a goddess. Aphrodite."

"Wait, she's leaving a job she already had for a lesser paying job?" She took the dill pickle slice he offered her and crunched on the end. "That doesn't make any sense."

"No, the last job was in California. She just moved here. Or back here, whatever, she's _so pretty _it doesn't even matter. She's going to make me lots of moola," he sang, bouncing a bit as he went to plop the bag on his desk and dig out the yogurt and granola that went with it. "Everyone's going to want our clothes."

Rachel folded her arms as she leaned against the leather chair across from his desk, smiling in utter amusement. "How many questions did you actually ask this woman before you hired her?"

"Uh. Rachel, I don't think you get just how gorgeous this woman is, c'mere." Kurt practically skipped around the desk, grabbing her arm and hauling her off to the office door. "They're doing a practice shoot right now. Look." He opened the door a crack, pushing Rachel's nose up into it.

She peeked out to see Dante with a few pins in between his puckered lips - farther left, Lainey was flashing photo after photo, and even farther, there she was. A blonde beauty just as Kurt described. So pretty it made her want to cry. And so sexy Rachel was pretty sure she'd be utilizing the image of her twisting her bare shoulders back and forth and rocking her head back with this predatory smirk and staring down the camera with these intense, dark eyes quite often from now on. Rachel could only gape.

"You see?" Kurt whispered right above her head.

Rachel nodded slowly, peeking out a bit more. "My God. And that's not even one of your better designs, I remember that thing."

Kurt swatted her shoulder. "_Thanks_."

"I'm sorry, but. _Wow_." Rachel chomped on her bottom lip. "Has Dante hit on her yet?"

Kurt nodded, butting his chin on the top of her head. "Of course. But she's a total ice queen. _He_ couldn't even tell one way or another."

Rachel found herself pouting. "Boo."

Lainey lowered her camera, turning about to change lenses, and the blonde adjusted the dress a bit, adjusting the cup of the strapless hem around her small but perky breasts. Rachel wetted her bottom lip.

"Okay, so I get it, but you still probably should've asked more questions than 'when can you start,' you know, she could have a cocaine addiction, or...like a really bad debt to loan sharks, or, um…wow, my whole mouth just filled with saliva."

Kurt chuckled above her, and then those intense eyes darted over to them. It was just for a moment, because Kurt was quick to shut the door - almost on Rachel's nose, at that. But the blonde saw them staring, and Rachel thought she saw the start to a nefarious smile on those pink lips.

She cleared her throat once and rubbed her chest. "Well. Did you at least get her name?"

Kurt laughed again. "Of course. It's Quinn Fabray. Aka, my money maker."

"Quinn," Rachel hummed, smiling to herself, and then hopped over to Kurt's desk to steal half of his yogurt.


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

Rachel hadn't been able to stop thinking about Quinn Fabray all week. Those eyes, that mouth, those shoulders, those breasts, that smirk, that attitude. Finn had finally gotten the last of his things out and left the apartment to head back to Lima two days ago, so Rachel had taken full advantage of being allowed to moan as loudly as she wanted to for the past couple of nights. But fantasy wasn't enough to fulfill her.

All day, every day, she was thinking about how soft all that porcelain skin must be. And it truly looked porcelain, but not necessarily in a cold way, like Kurt had described her, not an ice queen really. Not like she'd touch it and it'd be hard. No, it was certainly pale like porcelain, but it looked tender, soft. Not breakable like porcelain, either. More like silk or satin, like it'd be smooth to run her fingers across.

And she was thinking about how intense those eyes were and how they must get so much more so during sex. And how that smirk was so predatory and how demanding and dominating she must be during sex. And all these thoughts led Rachel back into her dressing room during the middle of rehearsals or running back home or into her bedroom or shower as fast as possible. She'd only seen Quinn Fabray once and she'd already masturbated to thoughts of her an embarrassing number of times - the only conclusion to draw was: she was hooked.

So exactly a week after visiting Kurt at his office, Rachel picked up lunch for everyone who might be at the studio. It was her day off of rehearsals, after all, and Kurt couldn't get too suspicious if he had a turkey sandwich smothered with mustard in his mouth. Besides, Dante had cajoled her over not bringing everyone something to eat last time, so it was only fair that she cater to all four of them.

Dante was, of course, the first to notice her walking in with the big brown bag. "Oh, God. Is that what I think it is?"

Rachel smiled coyly as she plopped the bag on the rare empty spot on his worktable and sang out loudly, "Lunch time!"

Dante dug into the bag without delay, groaning, "Woman, you saved my life."

Kurt's head popped out of his office. "What, no office service?"

She grinned, shrugging off her coat. "I brought some for everyone this time. You, Dante, Lainey - and Quinn."

He smirked, but came prancing over to get his special combo out before anyone - namely Dante - stole it anyway. "Uh huh."

"Someone say my name?" Lainey called as she waltzed over from the corner where she was setting up a large grey screen.

"Yes, I did. I brought lunch for everyone." Rachel bounced over to her with the third sandwich, smiling when Lainey grinned.

"I love you," she sighed, taking the dish and propping herself up onto the table to eat.

Rachel giggled. "I think you need to stop starving your employees, Kurt."

"I think we all need to start actually packing lunches," he answered around a mouthful of sandwich. "Or, like...you need to bring us lunch every day."

"Yes. That. I like that idea," Dante agreed.

Rachel couldn't help a little laugh. "Sorry, don't have quite enough money for that kind of expense. You'll have to do with once a week."

"Pssh, right, _you_ don't have enough money, Broadway baby." Dante winked as he bit into his sandwich.

She shrugged, taking the dill pickle Kurt passed to her. "I'm not a movie star."

"Yet. You were in one successful flick, it's only a matter of time before you get the next offer," Kurt pointed out.

"Well, I appreciate your faith in me," she returned, giggling as she took a bite out of her pickle.

"At least Blaine feeds us on Tuesdays," Lainey said cheerfully.

"Oh, you're here on Tuesdays?" Rachel piped up, smiling despite herself, and pointedly ignoring Kurt's smirk.

"Just to look over the shots with Kurt after they're developed."

"Oh." Rachel swayed a bit. "So is Quinn here today?"

"Yes, she is," a soft, husky voice announced behind her, and Rachel whipped around so fast she was afraid - for a moment - she might've hit that gorgeous face with her hair. But Quinn just smiled and offered a perfect hand. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

Quinn was even more gorgeous up close, if possible. Rachel could plainly see now that her eyes were hazel in color, gold and green flecks brightening them up like fireworks, and her eyebrows were held in perfect arches. And she had such a pleasant smile, though it held something of an edge to it. Something that reminded Rachel of how predatory she'd looked that first day.

Rachel completely forgot how to breathe.

Kurt cleared his throat. "This is my BFF, Rachel Berry. Rachel, this is Quinn."

Quinn's eyes had darted away to him, but then they were back, and one of her eyebrows lifted up in a skeptical stare. "Pleasure."

Rachel forgot how to shake hands. "I...brought lunch," she said at last.

"Last sandwich is for you. Unless I finish mine first," Dante said, and promptly took a huge chunk out of his.

Quinn, seeming to realize that she was not going to get a proper handshake, nodded and went to open the bag and retrieve the last sandwich. She swept over to sit next to Lainey, every move more graceful than the last. Rachel couldn't stop staring. Kurt pinched her side and she almost yelped.

"Don't do that!" she hissed, and he chuckled.

"Okay, next time I'll just put a bib on you."

Her cheeks heated horribly. "I was not that bad."

"Rachel, I thought I was in a romantic comedy for a minute there."

Rachel didn't know exactly what she was going to say, but what came out was a rather undignified combination of indignant sounds and she stomped her foot a little before looking to Dante. "You didn't think I was that bad, did you?"

"Bad about what?"

Rachel turned to look at Kurt triumphantly, but he just pointed his yogurt covered spoon toward Quinn.

"Oh!" Dante chuckled. "Yeah, no offense, Broadway, but cats in heat are more subtle than you."

Rachel placed her hands on her hips and huffed. "See if I ever bring you lunch again," she muttered.

Dante rose up in alarm. "Hey, whoa, let's not get carried away here!"

"Don't panic. She will." Kurt smirked. "She won't be able to stop now."

"Excuse me, I can and will stop if I want to. I'm not a high school girl mooning over the captain of the football team anymore, Kurt. I'm a...a grown woman." Rachel glanced over at Quinn at the sound of Lainey's laugh. She was wearing that smirk again, so smug and confident. "I can, um...I can totally control my impulses...and…" Quinn's hazel eyes flicked up to her, and Rachel forgot how to speak.

"Did your mouth just fill with saliva again?" Kurt teased, and Rachel made sure to turn so Quinn couldn't see when she stuck her tongue out at him.


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

Rachel tried to resist going to the deli and ordering up four sandwiches to go over to Kurt's office with the next week. She really did. But after the new joy of a week to herself thinking of that husky purr of an alto voice and how Quinn might whisper during things in her ear with it, well...it was even more difficult to control herself. She wanted to see Quinn. Even if it was only for more...er, inspiration for herself.

So try as she might to deny herself the impulse, Rachel wound up waltzing into the studio space with another large brown bag and this time Dante was practically on top of her the moment she stepped in, taking the bag and twirling with it before he plopped it down on his table.

"Yes! I knew you'd come! I knew she'd come. She's HERE with LUNCH, everyone!" he called out, leaving her laughing as she perched on the edge of his table and watched him take a hunk out of his sandwich the second he got the tray open. "Oh, my God. Yes. Love you, love _you_, Broadway."

She flicked a sprayed piece of lettuce off her sleeve with a wrinkled nose. "Okay, but say it, don't spray it, please."

Dante shrugged and shoved half the sandwich into his mouth again.

"We really need to teach you table manners," Kurt announced, kissing Rachel's cheek and plopping down some photo sheets next to her. Photo sheets of Quinn.

Lainey was trailing after him and took the sandwich he passed to her, offering, "Hi, Rachel."

"Hey…" she mumbled absently, peeking over the shots, each one more beautiful than the last.

"We've got a newspaper ad to fill," Kurt explained suddenly. "Trying to decide which one to use. This one's my favorite."

Kurt tapped a slot, though Rachel hardly bothered to look. They were _all_ absolutely gorgeous.

"How do you even pick with a selection like this?" she breathed despite herself - and immediately blushed.

And it only got worse when that purring voice spoke from behind her once again, almost in her ear this time. "With difficulty, I imagine. But I wouldn't choose that one."

Goosebumps sent the hair on the back of Rachel's neck standing up and she practically squirmed off the table, folding her arms around herself in the hopes that it would hide how easily her body had reacted to that. She wasn't sure it helped, though, because Quinn was staring straight at her. With those deep hazel eyes. Those eyes were the worst of it, Rachel was convinced, because even if she was a frizzy-haired, wart-covered, cackling hag, Rachel was pretty sure she'd still be able to get a kiss from her - as long as she had those hypnotic eyes.

She forced herself to look at a pouting Kurt as he stepped over, looking back down at his selection.

"Why not? What's wrong with it?"

"You said it's going to be a newspaper ad, right?" Quinn nodded to Lainey as she passed over her sandwich tray and flicked the plastic lid up with nary a movement. "Even if it's in color, newspaper ads are grainy."

Kurt was still pouting. "So?"

"So that dress is too detailed to show up well in their printers. I'd use that one," she explained, tapping a fingernail on a one in a series where she was in a simple, elegant blue dress. "But that's just me."

Quinn flicked her gaze to Rachel again, shrugged, and went away with her sandwich. Lainey trailed shortly after her, and Rachel couldn't help but send a frown after them, at least until Kurt caught her attention with a massive, unnecessary huff.

"Goddammit, she's right."

Rachel giggled, softening as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "Maybe you can use the more detailed one for internet ads or magazines, once you get that big. Of course, I still don't know how you can even choose just one." She sighed, staring down at the rows and rows of beautiful smirks and mysterious glances.

Kurt nudged her in the stomach. "Still attracted to her, huh?"

Her lower lip poked out. "Yes."

"And I thought you only went for stupid ones." He smirked, grabbing up his sandwich again.

"Hey. Finn was smart. In some ways. Sometimes." Rachel cleared her throat. "Anyway, maybe my tastes have matured. And maybe an unrealistically hot, sexy, smart blonde is just what I need." She bit off the end of the dill pickle he offered her before taking it from him, nodding in satisfaction with her argument.

Kurt's eyebrow popped up unimpressively. "Just one problem with that."

"What?"

"We still don't know which way she swings."

Rachel frowned, leaning her hip against the table and muttering resentfully, "A girl can still fantasize."

#

About an hour later, after waiting and waiting for Lainey to start photographing Quinn only to find out that she was only trying some new designs on, Rachel stuffed her hands deep into her winter coat pockets and bounced on her heels, waiting for just one cab to be kind and stop. Her whistles had thus far had zero effect, as had waving. It was just one of many disadvantages to being short and unintimidating, she reflected with a pout.

"Hi again."

Rachel whipped her head around and gulped almost audibly, because there was Quinn. Standing next to her in the cold, her pale cheeks slightly pink from the sting of the wind and for once, in her own clothes. Not that Rachel could see anything but the winter wear, but still, it gave her a sense of Quinn's style to see a stylish tan pleather jacket zipped up to a foggy grey infinity scarf, a cornflower blue skirt flaring out around her legs, and black boots decorated with white stains from the salt on the sidewalks. And that sense was - classy.

She almost smiled. Almost, because then Quinn pulled out a cigarette, and the attraction meter started to drop dangerously. Rachel should've known. There was no one as perfect in the world as Quinn seemed to be, it was simply impossible. There had to be some kind of fatal flaw, and here it was.

Quinn's nose wrinkled suddenly. "Shit. Do you - "

"No, I don't carry a lighter, sorry," Rachel said brusquely, turning her gaze straight ahead.

There was silence next to her for a moment. "Actually, I was going to ask if you smoke."

Rachel stuck her chin in the air. "No, I don't. It's bad for the vocal cords."

"Good. Do me a favor, take this and throw it far, far away from me."

Quinn stuffed the cigarette she'd pulled out back into the pack and held it out to Rachel. Who stared for a moment and then gingerly took the pack between her thumb and forefinger.

"Um...may I ask, why?"

Quinn pulled another box from her pocket, but this time, slipped a square of gum in her mouth. "I've been trying to quit. These patches are worth shit." She briefly clasped a hand over her arm. "Gum helps, though."

Rachel couldn't help but smile as Quinn offered her a piece, but shook her head mildly. Quinn only shrugged, stepped off the curb, and whistled piercingly. A cab screeched to a stop and Quinn waved back at Rachel before she slipped into the back.

Well, everyone had at least one flaw, after all. And Quinn was working on hers. Rachel smiled and tossed the cigarettes into the nearest trash can, deciding suddenly that it was a beautiful day to walk home.


	4. Part 4

**Part 4**

Rachel pranced into Kurt's studio the next week with the usual bag of sandwiches, this time digging out Kurt's before Dante confiscated the rest of the bag from her and heading into his office. He glanced up from his papers with a start when the door slammed carelessly shut behind her and she presented him with the plastic tray.

"What's this, are we _avoiding_ Quinn now?" He smirked, tugging the tray over to himself and flipping it open.

"No. But I've decided it's time to get proactive." Rachel nodded, perching herself in the chair across from him and promptly crossing her legs.

Kurt paused. "Proactive how?"

"We need to find out if she's into women," she answered simply.

"Oh." He gulped down his bite of sandwich, and her brow furrowed.

"What? You pointed out that we don't know, so - "

"Yeah, yeah, I know I did, but I was kind of...joking? I mean, I knew you had a crush, but Rachel, might I remind you of what you asked me when I told you I hired her? You don't even know the woman."

She frowned, brushing the hem of her skirt over her knee. "I know she's trying to quit smoking…"

"Oh, well, that's different then," Kurt drawled, quirking his eyebrow at her.

"Okay, yeah, I don't know a lot about her, _but_ how am I supposed to go about _getting_ to know her if I don't know if it can even go anywhere or not?" Rachel raised her chin, proud of her own reasoning. "Think, if I start to get to know her and she's as amazing as she looks and I fall head over heels, only to find out that she's totally, one hundred percent straight?"

Kurt swiped mustard from the corner of his mouth. "Point taken. So what do you suggest?"

Rachel smiled, perking up. "Well, have you noticed any indication either way? She seems to spend a lot of time with Lainey, at least when I'm here, and - "

"Yeah, because Lainey has to photograph her, but I don't see anything stirring between them. Quinn's just been really courteous. To me and to Lainey."

"No offense, honey, but you don't really count. What about Dante?"

He scowled. "Hey, whoa. Are you saying I'm not attractive?"

"I'm saying you're obviously gay."

He let out an indignant, and undignified, snort, but before he could parry her thrust, there was a quick knock on the door and a blonde head popped into the room.

"Hey - oh." Quinn paused as she absorbed Rachel's presence.

She sat up, trying her best to smile and look...pretty. Or something. She didn't know if it did any good, because Quinn had an unreadable face. Rachel could only assume she was thinking.

"Everything okay?" Kurt prompted after taking another bite of sandwich.

"Yes, fine. Lainey's busy, though, and I need help lacing up this dress, do you mind?"

It took Rachel a moment to realize Quinn was addressing her.

"Me? Oh! Yes, absolutely! I mean, sure."

She cleared her throat, glancing to a smirking Kurt and back to Quinn, whose eyebrow was arched up again. Good God, that was one sexy eyebrow. Not that Rachel knew eyebrows could be sexy before she'd seen Quinn and the way she cocked it in that enigmatic way. Come to think of it, almost every expression she'd seen Quinn make was enigmatic. And it was sexy.

Rachel bounced after Quinn out of Kurt's office and across the studio to the little dressing room. Quinn shut the door behind her and Rachel waited dutifully outside until she called, "Okay, come in."

And then Rachel was staring at a pale, pale back that looked so smooth she could slide a book or a finger or nails or a tongue across it with no resistance, just dipping and curving with those muscles - _muscles_. Rachel wasn't normally the type to care about muscle tone one way or another in a romantic partner; after all, it was the personality she was attracted to. But she had to admit, Quinn had some fine ass muscle tone and the way they rippled with tension each time she moved - Rachel was going to have a very long night.

When Quinn cleared her throat and glanced back at her, Rachel jumped to action, hurrying to do up the many, many laces. God, no wonder Quinn needed help, she'd spend half the afternoon doing up the back of her dress alone. What had Kurt been thinking, honestly?

"So, um. How do you like the deli sandwiches?" Rachel grimaced at herself.

Quinn glanced back over her shoulder briefly. Even a side-eye was a little too much for Rachel to handle, and she focused more heavily on the laces.

"They're fine," she said simply, and then - Rachel wasn't sure, but she thought her voice turned kind of teasing when she said, "Wouldn't kill you to bring drinks, though, would it?"

Rachel found herself smiling, nipping on her own bottom lip. "Well, it wouldn't kill you all to show a little gratitude, either."

"Mm. In that case, thank you for gracing us with your presence and lovely lunches every week; I personally greatly appreciate your generosity."

There wasn't a trace of sarcasm in her voice. Rachel listened for it. But there was none. She smiled.

"What kind of drink would you like?"

"Coffee."

"And how do you like your coffee?"

"Black."

Rachel blinked. "Just black? No sugar, no cream, nothing?"

Quinn only nodded, and Rachel shook her head.

"How can you stand it like that? It's so bitter."

Quinn's shoulders shrugged. "What's the point of drinking something if you don't enjoy its real taste? Or put another way...if you can't enjoy something in its original form, why bother with it at all?"

Rachel blinked again, fingers pausing their hurried work. "I never thought of it like that…" Quinn shifted, and she hastily went back to lacing. "So are you telling me you prefer to drink straight vodka, too?" She giggled.

Quinn smirked over her shoulder. "And cheeseburgers with no condiments."

"Cheese is a condiment," Rachel retorted playfully. "Sort of."

And then Quinn laughed. It was soft, and only for a moment, but it filled Rachel up with a warmth that went all the way down to her toes and all the way up her neck.

"I'm not saying I don't enjoy things put together period," she continued. "But put a hamburger plain, no bun in front of me, and I'll eat it."

Reluctantly, Rachel finished off the lacing with a loose knot at the top. "Well, you're either very low maintenance, or very deep. Either way, I'm done."

Quinn turned about, tugging at the dress a bit before she said, "Thank you. Once you figure it out, let me know."

She slipped past Rachel, and she whipped about in turn. "Figure what out?"

"Low maintenance or deep!" Quinn called back, and Rachel couldn't help but grin a little.

They'd just had a conversation. A teasing, almost flirting - if Rachel wasn't being too hopeful - one at that. Take that, Kurt.


	5. Part 5

**Part 5**

Rachel and Kurt came up with several plans to discover what Quinn's sexual preference was over the next week. None of which involved actually directly asking her, of course. Rachel was too nervous to do so; Kurt preferred the sneaky method. He also seemed to prefer tempting her with one of his more promiscuous lesbian friends, but Rachel was less than interested in seeing Quinn flirt with another woman so she could flirt with her.

Ultimately, they decided to use the easiest tool at their disposal - Dante. A bisexual who actually lived up to the stereotype, the kind that just loved sex so much that it didn't really matter with whom he was having it. Quinn had already given him an icy reception when it came to flirting, but he could still be of use. All they had to do, Kurt pointed out, was get him talking about sex, and that was easy enough.

The five of them - Rachel, Kurt, Lainey, Dante, and Quinn - all sat eating lunch the next week (Quinn with her requested cup of coffee, to which she'd smirked and raised the cup as if toasting Rachel; to which Rachel had blushed) and Kurt nudged Dante's thigh with his foot after Lainey finished telling them about her and her fiance (thank God, Rachel thought) and their trouble picking furniture.

"And what about you?"

Dante gulped down his bite of sandwich and prompted, "What about me?"

Kurt smirked. "As if you haven't had the pleasure of a conquest lately. Tell us about it, come on. It's bound to be more entertaining than couch fabrics."

"True dat." Dante raised up a hand for a high five while Lainey huffed. "So I'm at this club." He brushed the crumbs off his hands.

"Obviously," Kurt pointed out, then gestured with his spoon. "Continue."

Rachel glanced at him in amusement before peering over at Quinn. She appeared to be entirely disinterested in the conversation so far - not a good sign for Kurt's 'plan.' But damn, even her indifference was attractive.

"I start dancing with this guy who's all up in leather, right? Get him home, give him a spanking, and guess what?"

"We all regret Kurt asking you this question?" Rachel guessed, earning herself a chuckle from Quinn. She couldn't help but grin, squirming a bit.

"He wasn't into it. Figure that. Guy in leather isn't into dom/sub." Dante shrugged, leaning back to grab another bite of his sandwich.

"Huh. So a guy you just met didn't want you to spank him? Shocking," Quinn noted.

Dante frowned up at her. "Did you not hear the part where he was dressed all in leather?"

"Were you sick the day they covered stereotyping in school?" Quinn retorted, and Rachel started to squirm at the way she was looking at Dante - eyebrow quirked, scowl on her pink lips. On anyone else, it might've looked unattractive, even nasty, but on her… "Think, if you just went by looking at us, well - " Quinn gestured toward Dante " - arrogant straight asshole - " she flicked her wrist toward Lainey " - butch lesbian - " she nodded to Rachel " - straight prude - " and she pointed to herself " - straight girly girl. And exactly none of those are true."

"Hey." Kurt was pouting. "What about me?"

"Let's just say one in five stereotypes is true," Quinn answered, and Rachel covered her giggle with a hand, trying to muffle it when he glared at her.

Dante leaned his elbow up on the table. "Okay, fair enough for me and Lainey, but the stereotype's spot on in two of five when it comes to Rachel over there."

"Hey!" She pouted, setting a hand on her hip. "I am not a prude, I'm...reserved." She nodded her head.

"Doesn't feel good, does it?" Kurt folded his arms haughtily.

"She's neither prude nor straight," Quinn agreed, and Rachel couldn't help but gawk at her.

"What is she then?" Dante asked at the same time as she burst out, "How could you tell?"

Quinn's bright hazel eyes flicked between them for a moment, an almost mischievous curve taking over her lips. Rachel felt herself blushing even redder.

"She's bi, like you, couldn't _you_ tell? Though, by the way, not being a man whore like you does not make one a prude." Quinn tossed her empty tray into the brown bag and slipped off the table. "I'm going to change, call me when you're ready for me, Lainey."

"Hey, wait a sec, so what are you?" Dante called after her, cupping his mouth to catch her ear with his volume.

Quinn didn't even glance over her shoulder. "Lesbian, don't you know?"

Rachel had to bite down on her lip almost until it bled to keep from jumping up and cheering right at that very moment.


	6. Part 6

**Part 6**

"That couldn't have gone better!" Rachel cheered once she and Kurt were safely in the privacy of his office, almost clapping her hands with joy. "How did you even manage that? You hardly even asked anything and - it doesn't even matter! She's into women!" She grinned, squealing a little bit.

Kurt plopped into his chair, smirking at her in that half-amused way of his (she preferred to ignore the other half, which simply said 'you're ridiculous). "I hate to tell you this, but I really didn't do anything. She did that all by herself."

Rachel smiled and sat down across from him, bouncing her knees. "It doesn't even matter, I love you for it."

"Rachel, did you not hear me?"

Her brow furrowed. "Yes...of course I did, you said she did it all by herself."

Kurt nodded, waiting for her to come to whatever realization he was trying to trigger. Rachel's eyebrows had practically become one by the time he huffed and took pity on her.

"I think she was using the opportunity to let _you_ know she's into women," he explained, as if to a child.

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I mean she saw the chance to find a way to tell you she's gay and she took it." He paused. "She's into you, is what I'm saying."

She gasped softly, and a blush instantly coated her cheeks bright red - partly in embarrassment for not realizing his point sooner. But mainly in realization. Kurt really had done nothing, after all, or at least nothing that he'd told her he was going to do, save for get Dante talking. He'd said he would steer the conversation, but Quinn did all the steering. Maybe she was truly annoyed with Dante's stereotyping - or maybe Kurt was right. Maybe both.

Rachel didn't want to jump to conclusions too quickly, but still, she couldn't help the warm feeling stirring in her middle at the idea that Quinn had crafted her _own_ way to tell Rachel, without any help from her or Kurt.

"Do you really think so?" she half-whispered.

Kurt smirked again. "I think it's unlikely she brought it up for the benefit of the rest of us."

"Well, she could've really been bothered by what he said," she countered. "And _he_ asked, she didn't tell us."

"After the way she said it? Somebody was going to ask and she knew it."

"You're only encouraging my avid infatuation, you know." Rachel narrowed her eyes at him briefly.

Kurt grinned. "I know, which is why I wouldn't tell you if I didn't think it was true. Go talk to her, feel her out for yourself."

Rachel opened her mouth, almost leaping out of the chair - but one thing held her back. "How?"

"God, seven years back and forth with Finn really did you zero good," Kurt grumbled, scooting forward. "Just flirt with her. See how she reacts. If she flirts back, you're in."

"But what do I _say_?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to flirt with her for you. Just go. Talk. Let it come naturally."

Rachel hesitated, fidgeting with the end of her skirt. "Naturally."

Kurt pursed his lips. "If you don't get your little butt out there, I'm going to steer you myself."

Rachel popped up when he threatened to stand, trotting out the office door and gulping. Dante was working over his table with a silky pink material, and on the other side of the room, Quinn was smirking and twirling for Lainey's camera in a tight black number with red trim. The skirt of it flared out, teasing at pale thighs every time she spun at Lainey's direction.

She didn't know what Kurt expected her to do. Quinn was working, should she even interrupt? Probably not. Lainey probably wouldn't appreciate having to weed through pictures where Quinn's mouth was open from chatting with a rambling brunette.

So Rachel scooted herself along one of the work tables nearest where they were conducting the shoot and popped herself up on the table to watch until she could figure something out. It didn't help her thinking process, however, to be smirked at by Quinn every now and then, or to be watching her luscious body and that gorgeous face that seemed made for a camera. Or made for Rachel's bed.

It was this line of thinking that had her crossing her legs while she sat and staring into middle space, distracting her so much that when Lainey went to change lenses and Quinn had her break, Rachel didn't even notice until Quinn said, "You're still here."

She jumped and flushed even redder, taking in curious eyes that in the current light looked like starbursts. "Do you mind?"

Quinn shook her head in that elegant way she seemed to have about everything she did, and Rachel smiled. "Of course not, it's just that you usually take off the moment we're all finished eating. I guess I just assumed you were only here for a lunch hour."

It was Rachel's turn to shake her head. "Actually, this is my day off. I just don't like to hang around and bother Kurt too long, usually, but I don't know, I guess I thought I'd like to see the modeling profession in action."

Quinn's lip curved. "Exciting, isn't it?" she drawled. "We not only catwalk, we _twirl_."

Rachel laughed at her dryness. "I'm sure it's much more difficult than it looks; though you pretty much make everything look effortless, as far as I've seen," she admitted, biting on her bottom lip.

"And I'd say it's probably even easier than it looks," she retorted easily, leaning her hip against the table.

"You seem to have a very negative view of your own career," Rachel noted, unable to curtail her curiosity.

Quinn shrugged. "I prefer to think of it as realistic. It's just a cash cow in the business of warping society's view of women."

Rachel's eyebrows popped up. "Why do it then?"

She shrugged again. "It's something to do. And I only sign on with companies who don't Photoshop the models in their ads."

"I doubt any company would need to Photoshop _you_, anyway." Rachel chomped on her lip again.

Quinn smiled, almost catlike in its lazy spread. "Nonetheless, I prefer not to support the companies who do it."

Rachel nodded her understanding. It really was quite admirable, in a way, to only accept jobs that didn't try to alter real women and therefore society's expectations of them. Quinn might even start a movement with her staunch views, even unintentionally, spreading a wave of models who refused work with misogynistic companies that did not appreciate the female form in its true...well, form. And it helped the companies who didn't stoop to hire a model and then change all her 'imperfections,' providing advertising for them and encouraging women of all different shapes and sizes to become models, to represent women.

She was overcome with respect for Quinn's unique point of view, and yet another wave of attraction for the blonde. She smiled at her.

"That's very admirable." She nodded her head. "Though - what do you mean, just something to do? I mean, not to pry, but most people don't really think of their jobs as hobbies."

"Most people need their jobs, for the money."

Rachel's eyebrows popped up in realization. "Oh. So you really did just choose to do this. For fun."

Quinn shrugged. "I wasn't going to model once I moved here, but Kurt seemed desperate."

She smiled. "Well, I appreciate you helping him out, in that case, and I'm very glad you chose to take the job. Especially since you don't need it."

"It's always good to keep some income rolling in." She bobbed her shoulders again - and glanced away as Lainey called her back.

Rachel deflated a bit in disappointment that their conversation would have to end so soon, but then Quinn wheeled back around, considering her.

"Are you sticking around much longer then?"

Rachel bit her lip, heart pounding. "I can…"

Quinn nodded, pursing her lips in something of a smirk. "Good."

She bit down harder to as not to grin. "Good?"

"I have yet to take my turn on the Inquisition - I intend to find out more about this Broadway business," she answered as she backed away, and Rachel couldn't help it any longer as she burst into a beam, and Quinn winked at her.

Rachel just about fell off the table.


	7. Part 7

**Part 7**

Rachel waited anxiously throughout the rest of the afternoon's shoot, through every outfit change, and through every smirk Quinn sent her way, until Lainey finally announced that they had what she wanted and started packing up her camera bag. Then she nearly leapt off the table, and probably would have if not for Quinn holding up a two minute signal to her as she went off to the little dressing room.

She emerged almost three minutes later in the winter wear Rachel had seen her in before, but with a black skirt underneath this time. Somehow, it changed the entire look of things, and at the same time, Quinn's beauty never wavered. Though Rachel was starting to see different shades of beauty in her with every look she changed into. For instance - obviously, sexy, but there was just plain hot sexy, mysterious sexy, seemingly innocent sexy, smart sexy - and the list went on. And that didn't include the looks where Quinn was just gorgeous. It was unfair for one person to be capable of embodying every single way to be attractive.

But as Rachel tugged on her coat and they walked out the front door of the little studio together and onto the busy street, she came to the conclusion that Quinn might possibly be at her best when she was dressed like herself. It was natural beauty, natural sexy, natural grace. She wasn't putting on for show, she was just comfortable, and in that comfort was...well, hotness.

"So, where do you want to eat?" Quinn asked suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.

Rachel blinked. "Eat?"

Quinn chuckled. "Yes, it's five thirty...unless you usually eat later…"

"Well, actually, my eating schedule is a little wonky compared to everyone else's," she admitted sheepishly. "I tend to work very late hours, later in the day, especially when I'm doing a show, so actually I'd be having my 'dinner' break in a couple of hours if I was working."

"That's why you don't eat with us," she noted, nodding.

Rachel bit her lip. "But we can eat now, if you're hungry, I don't mind."

Quinn shook her head. "No, I'm perfectly fine. I was only trying to snare you for a little longer than a drink would take, but…"

If Rachel's cheeks were red, it had nothing to do with the cold.

"You can...snare me as long as you would like. Until midnight, at least."

Quinn smirked. "I'll keep that in mind, Cinderella."

Rachel grinned up at her and narrowly avoided walking into a garbage can in her distraction. "I wouldn't place a limit at all, but my fairy godmother known as work turns me into a pumpkin if I don't get enough sleep."

"And what are you doing at work right now?" Off Rachel's quizzical look, Quinn expanded, "What play, what part?"

"Oh! We're in the dress rehearsal stage of a very charming version of The Nutcracker. I'm the ballerina, of course, and an old friend of mine, Jesse St. James, is the nutcracker - you might've heard of him, he was doing soaps in LA for years before he decided to make his return to the stage."

Quinn merely shook her head once. "I'm not familiar."

"Well, he's a horrible diva, just like me," she giggled out, "but he has a certain charm if you can get past the arrogance."

"Okay...doesn't sound like you so far."

"Oh, I'm horrid on set, you should see me." Rachel paused, frowning. "On second thought, no, you shouldn't, I'm a nightmare. But I can't help it if I like things to be perfect. Or maybe I can, but things _should_ be perfect when you're working on a performance. You have months to practice it, but you only perform it a few times unless it does _extremely_ well, and that's rare, and if you don't get it right those few times, then no one will remember you for being great. Which I know, people always say, a layman isn't going to know that the third trombone played off key, and the layman isn't going to know you flubbed a line if you cover well enough, but they do know, unconsciously, but if you do everything perfectly, that's how they'll remember it: perfect."

Rachel stopped to take a gulp of air as she realized abruptly that she'd probably just frightened Quinn across the street with her nonstop blabbering. Only when she peered up at her, Quinn didn't look annoyed or impatient. In fact, she looked almost interested. Or at least amused. Maybe a mixture of both, because her eyebrow was lifted - but not in the dramatic arch it had been in response to Dante, more in consideration - and her lips were curved in a little smirk.

"I'm sorry," Rachel blurted anyway, feeling her ears going red. "I'm a pathological rambler, always have been. I get going and then every little thought that pops into my head comes out my mouth and you really just have to stop me if you're getting annoyed or anything, because I won't unless you do, it's a permanent problem of mine. I guess I was so lonely when I was little that I tended to go on out of nervousness and overzealousness whenever anyone would talk to me and I never really got out of the habit, even after I realized it bothered people - which, by the way, I'm not very good at noticing when I'm bothering people, I'm kind of socially awkward, which I'm sure you noticed, but I think I've gotten a lot better since high school. Although that makes me sound like I was freakishly bad in high school, and maybe I was, but my _God_, you have to stop me." She bit down on her bottom lip roughly, red all the way from her neck up.

But Quinn just laughed. "Why?"

Rachel was stumped. "Because I'm embarrassing myself?"

"I'm just listening. What's embarrassing about that?" Quinn's head tilted. It was adorable.

Quinn had just ascended all forms of attractiveness in that one motion. Not only was she sexy, beautiful, elegant - she was _cute_, too? Rachel licked her dry lips.

"Well, I don't know," she said at length. "I suppose I'm just used to people finding it annoying when I go on like that. Kurt hates it. And so did my ex-boyfriend. Of course, he just didn't like it because he couldn't keep up with what I was saying most of the time; he's not very bright." She grimaced. "That's not fair. He's just not…"

"At your level," Quinn finished, almost questioning.

Rachel smiled a bit. "That's a good way of putting it, I think. Better than my way." She giggled.

Quinn smiled back at her. "So tell me more about high school."

She mock-groaned. "Why?"

"Because it sounds like a pit of therapeutic heaven," she returned, grinning, and Rachel was momentarily mesmerized by pearly teeth.

She bit her lip through a little laugh of her own. "You could say that. I was not...well-liked. Even among my glee club members. It was kind of funny, actually, I was the outcast in a group of outcasts."

Quinn was peering curiously at her. "What...is a glee club?"

Rachel gaped. "You don't know… It's show choir! You know, like… Okay, did you have a choir at your school?"

"Yes, band, choir, all that, sure." She nodded.

"Okay, so it's like choir, except we usually sing show tunes, musical numbers - though we did a lot more pop songs than I would've preferred, too - and we dance. We put together a performance around a few numbers, usually a ballad and a couple of group numbers, and then we compete against other glee clubs, sectionally, regionally, and if you're lucky, nationally."

Quinn nodded slowly. "Did you ever win?"

Rachel deflated then, clearing her throat. "Well. We didn't actually get to compete the first year. In fact, we were almost defunded by the principal, except we didn't cost him any money after not competing. We didn't have enough members until the next year, when the new freshmen came and a couple of new kids joined. But then, despite having some amazing singers, such as myself, we were never very good with dancing, especially our male lead - coincidentally, my ex-boyfriend." She chuckled wryly. "So we won Regionals once, but…"

Quinn hummed under her breath. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Rachel shrugged. "Did you ever compete in anything in high school?"

"Mm, cheerleading. But our team wasn't that great, either. And pretty much nobody stood a chance against the Cheerios on the national scale."

Rachel brightened. "That was our team! Well. I mean, our school's cheerleading team. Probably the worst collection of people outside of our hockey team...but I'm sure yours was much better."

Quinn tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "Not necessarily. Anyway. How'd you like to stop in for some coffee?"

She'd stopped walking and nodded behind Rachel, who grinned when she found they were just outside a corner cafe.

"I'd love to."


	8. Part 8

**Part 8**

Quinn insisted on paying for everything through the whole evening they spent in a corner booth of the cafe, at first sitting politely across from each other while Rachel sipped at soy hot chocolate and Quinn at a cup of black coffee. But as the evening rolled on and they talked and talked, Rachel found herself growing more comfortable, dragging off her coat, her winter wear, scooting into the corner of the booth nearer to Quinn, tucking her legs beneath her.

And Quinn, too, stripped to a white dress shirt that was just _so close_ to being shear, so Rachel could almost see the line between her bra and her skin, but not quite - enough to drive Rachel crazy. But everything about Quinn was driving her crazy. From the way she flicked her side bangs from her face every now and then to the way she smiled around every tease to the way she leaned her elbow up against the back of the booth and her chin on her hand like she could just listen to Rachel all night long. She practically did.

For while Rachel, with a little prompting, rambled on and on about high school and how horrid it had been most of the time and how she'd met Finn and fallen in love and how they slipped back and forth in their relationship and how it was always a fight between him and her dreams of Broadway and how she had wanted to be on Broadway since she was born, practically, and how she was pretty sure that was what had isolated her so much from other kids and so on and so forth, ad nauseum - Quinn just smiled and listened, occasionally commenting, teasing, encouraging her to go on.

Rachel might've felt like she was in a therapist's office all over again, spilling her guts and her feelings about everything from Broadway to Finn to childhood, except Quinn made her feel so comfortable. She didn't feel examined, though Quinn scanned her face and her body frequently. She felt like she was talking to a friend, a witty, endlessly patient friend.

They wound up ordering dinner at the cafe, which eased some of the glaring from the counter for being there so long, taking up a table, and when Quinn automatically gave Rachel the dill pickle that came with her burger, Rachel had to laugh.

"You don't like them, either? Kurt calls them troll dongs. Which is really rather disgusting now that I think about it, and I apologize if I've ruined your appetite."

Quinn just smiled. "I don't mind them, but I noticed he always gives his to you, so I thought you must like them."

Rachel bit on her bottom lip. "You're very sweet, you know that?"

Quinn shrugged at her gracefully. "So tell me more about your ballet classes. Do you still dance?"

Rachel wasn't sure she'd ever met someone so casually kind before. Personally, she liked to make a point of it, to have someone say thank you and to feel useful. But sometimes she felt a little selfish about that, and Quinn's easy dismissal didn't help that feeling. Maybe sometime she would try to sneak a nicety in to someone; not just a homeless person, though, because she wasn't sure it counted if you just felt so bad for them you slipped them a handful of cash every time you saw one, whether they were paying attention or not.

Well, maybe it counted. But it wasn't quite the same as doing something nice for someone she knew personally, someone who expected her to expect to be thanked for doing something for them, or to have an 'I owe you' attached.

Rachel nodded, decided on her course of action while the two of them ordered dessert - cheesecake for Quinn, a vegan safe parfait for Rachel. She liked this line of thinking of hers, and she liked that Quinn made her think of it. With Finn, she'd always felt greedy, begging for his and others' attention, never feeling enough. Quinn was making her think of others in a different way, and though this was only a first date, if she dared to call it that, it was a promising start.

The cafe closed at ten thirty, unfortunately, so the two of them ordered one more cup of hot chocolate and coffee to go and started walking again. It was always busy in New York, crowded, rushing streets, no matter what time one went out, but somehow Quinn managed to find some quieter avenues, and at eleven thirty, she reminded Rachel of her scheduled bedtime and Rachel reluctantly led the way back to her apartment complex.

She didn't want the night to end. She couldn't remember the last time she just talked with someone, had someone listen to her for so long about her life and her feelings about it, or just walked and enjoyed the cool New York winter together, cupping gloved hands around styrofoam cups and exchanging smiles. And it was especially special with Quinn, beautiful Quinn, who looked so natural in the snow, with her blonde hair and her sparkling eyes and her pale skin. She was a snow angel in and of herself.

Rachel stopped on the stoop outside the door to get one last look at her snow angel. She was tempted to ask - want to come in? Have some wine? Get warmed up? And the idea did send a flush of warmth through her, thinking of hot kisses and wondering not for the first time if Quinn was as much of a sex goddess as she looked. But it was a first date. Or a first something, anyway. So she just smiled.

"I had a really nice time today, thank you," she said emphatically.

Quinn smiled back at her. "So did I. Maybe we can do it again sometime."

"Absolutely!" Rachel grinned, then promptly bit it down. "I mean. Of course. Sure."

Quinn's eyebrow twitched with amusement, and she came up the steps as she dug into her pockets, clicking a pen and then ripping a piece of paper off a small notepad, which Rachel peered at curiously.

"My number," Quinn offered, and Rachel clutched the little paper to her chest, smiling. "Call me anytime."

Rachel's cheeks flushed even more, and not from cold. Quinn's voice could make a rabid dog lie down and purr.

"I will." She nodded.

For a moment, she thought Quinn might kiss her. But those pink lips only curled in a smile before she turned down the steps again and paused to look up at her at the bottom.

"Good night, Rachel."

Rachel beamed. "Good night, Quinn."

She waved the tips of her fingers as Quinn turned down the street again, rushing into her building once she disappeared around the corner and as soon as she was safely in her apartment, Rachel flopped into bed and pulled out her phone to add Quinn's number and text Kurt: 'I just had the best night ever and you should be jealous of me. Call me!'


	9. Part 9

**Part 9**

"So, let me get this straight," Kurt's sleepy, hoarse voice grumbled around two in the morning. "You talked. She listened. And you learned...nothing about her?"

Rachel paused. He had a point. She really had done all of the talking and now in hindsight...had that been a horrible mistake? She should've been more selfless, more of a listener and less of a talker, she should've asked 'what about you' at the end of every info dump she offered Quinn. Except Quinn really didn't seem to mind. In fact, the night had ended incredibly well despite Rachel taking up more than her share of the conversation.

Still. She really didn't know an awful lot about Quinn. Just that she was a model, but she was rich enough that she didn't have to be, but kind enough to do it as more or less a favor for Kurt even though she thought modeling was negatively effecting social views on women's bodies. She was trying to quit smoking, and she quirked her eyebrow a lot, to show a variety of emotions - mainly amusement or mischievousness or appall. She also flicked her hair from her face whenever it made her eyebrow start to twitch from being too tickled, and she liked her coffee black because while she could enjoy combinations, she also appreciated things in their original forms, unencumbered by other flavors or add-ons.

But that wasn't really anything of substance, nothing that told her about Quinn's history. Like how was she so rich? What did she spend the rest of her time doing if her modeling job with Kurt was just a hobby, more or less? Did she have another career that made her money for her? Or did she own businesses, perhaps? She didn't really look old enough to own a business, let alone multiple businesses, but maybe she was older than Rachel thought. In which case, how old was she? Or if she was as young as she looked and owned businesses, did she inherit them? Or was she just that business savvy? If she inherited them, did she have living parents? Siblings? Had she even gone to college, if she was so rich she didn't need to? If so, where did she go? If not, then what had she done since high school? Where did she go to high school? Where did she grow up, where was she born?

Rachel felt a little dizzy from her own questions, but she managed to pull herself together enough to answer Kurt. "Pretty much."

"Uh huh. So you could've just told all that to like a serial killer and you would have no idea," he yawned.

"She is not a serial killer!" She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"You don't know. Maybe that's what she does when she's not, you know, modeling. Murder. Maybe you're her next victim."

"Would you stop it? You know how paranoid I can be, stop infecting me with ridiculous thoughts!" She folded her arms, pouting. "Can't we just be happy that I had an amazing night with Quinn? An amazing night with anyone? For the first time in years?"

"I'd be happier if you knew more," Kurt grumbled back.

"Hey, you're the one who hired her without even a glance at her resume," she pointed out.

"That didn't mean you had to date her! Besides...it's different hiring someone than dating them."

"How? You still have to put your trust in them, you still have to assume they're not a serial killer. You don't know, either. You could be her next victim." Rachel grinned to herself.

Kurt sounded affronted. "Nuh uh...I pay her."

"She doesn't need the money," she sing-songed.

"Says who?"

"Says Quinn."

"Like I believe the serial killer," he mumbled. "Look...come by next week, we'll look over the resume together, do a background check, and confirm that she has not been in the business of murder." He yawned.

"Excellent idea, now I really must sleep, or I'm going to be a zombie at work tomorrow."

"No kidding," he said wryly, and Rachel giggled before she kissed into the phone.

"Night, love you."

"Love you, too."

Rachel hung up and smiled to herself. Next week, she would find out everything there was to know about Quinn Fabray. At least from a resume and a background check.

#

Rachel pranced into the studio next week carrying the usual bag and Kurt's meal under her arm, tossing the bag to Dante before she trotted into Kurt's office with a wave toward Lainey. Quinn was nowhere in sight, which for today, was excellent news to Rachel. She wasn't sure she could snoop without feeling guilty if she saw her. Besides, she hadn't exactly called her over the past week.

Not that she hadn't wanted to, or hadn't tried, but every time she picked up the phone and tried to think of what she'd say, everything fell apart and she stuffed her phone away. In a way, it was nice. Rachel hadn't felt nerves like this in a long time - the good nerves. The oh-my-gosh-I-like-you-so-much nerves. I-don't-want-to-mess-this-up nerves.

Part of her whispered that peeking into Quinn's background without asking was messing things up. But Kurt would've told her everything anyway, even if she wasn't helping, she reasoned. Besides, this was always how she and Kurt went about things. They weren't exactly into coming out and asking people things; they preferred to find out on their own, so they could get all the details, not just what the person chose to tell them. And then when the person did tell them and left parts out, they could analyze why.

Maybe their way wasn't so good, Rachel pondered, but it was too late by the time she thought of it. Kurt already had the resume out on the desk, headshot set underneath it, thankfully, because Rachel probably would've spent the next hour staring it if he hadn't slid it away. He ran a finger down the page, humming to himself.

"Wow."

"What?" She leaned closer, peeking at it.

"She lives in the Flatiron District. God, she _must_ be loaded." He whistled, long and low. "Holy crap, she went to _Yale_?"

Rachel gaped, grabbing the page from him. "Let me see that."

There it was. Yale University, New Haven, CT. GPA: 4.0. Bachelor of Science in Marketing. Minor in Drama.

Yale. Yale was _Ivy League_.

Rachel suddenly had a creeping sensation in her belly. The kind that arose every time Finn had looked at another girl back in high school. Insecurity. She was nowhere near that smart. But Quinn had not only gotten into Yale, into an Ivy League university, she had done well. More than well, she'd gotten a 4.0. Quinn was a genius.

Rachel dropped the paper down and stood. "I don't think we should do this."

"What? We haven't even gotten to the good part yet." Kurt was pouting, fingering the resume.

"It's an invasion of her privacy and-and I just don't feel comfortable anymore, Kurt." She shouldered her purse with a breath.

Kurt blinked. "Okay…" He slid the resume and headshot back into their manila folder and slid it back into his file cabinet, flipping the lock on it. "There. Gone."

Rachel nodded, still feeling a bit fidgety.

"You must really like her," he commented after a moment.

Rachel bit her lip. "I do. I've gotta go."

She nodded, hesitated, and then whirled about to open the door, only to run almost smack dab into Quinn.


	10. Part 10

**Part 10**

Rachel suddenly hated how unreadable Quinn was, standing there, smirking down at her like that. She couldn't tell. Had she overheard? Was she angry? Amused? There was no telling until Quinn actually said something, and as seemed to always be the case, she was not saying anything. At least until Rachel felt like she was going to explode from panic and the heat in her cheeks.

Then she lifted a styrofoam cup and said, "You owe me a coffee."

Rachel's jaw flapped a bit. "But I brought you one…"

Quinn nodded her chin over her shoulder. "Dante drank it before I could get to it."

Panic faded for the moment, and Rachel rolled her eyes. "Dante! Am I seriously going to have to start marking everyone's food before I bring it in?"

"I was thirsty, sue me," he called back. "Want to avoid it? Bring me a coffee. Lots of cream, though, I don't know how she can drink that bitter shit."

"It sustains my black heart," Quinn drawled, winking down at Rachel.

She was blushing again instantly. "I apologize for the mishap. I'll bring you two next time."

"Or...you could just come out with me after work and buy me a new one. Unless the fact that you haven't called means you've decided you don't _like_ me anymore - "

"No! I l-I like you!" Rachel cleared her throat and adjusted her purse strap.

Quinn smirked at her again, and the blush deepened. "Good. So it's a date."

She could just feel her eyes going bulgy. "A date?"

"Unless you'd rather it was a get-together between friends."

"No!" She chomped on her lip. "No, a date's...it's good."

Quinn smiled at her so knowingly Rachel was sure she was red down to her toes. Thankfully, Lainey called for Quinn just when she thought she might turn into a tomato.

"I have some errands to run, but I'll come back around 5:30?"

Quinn nodded as she backed away. "See you then."

Rachel beamed.

#

She really didn't have any errands to run. Maybe one, because she'd been running out of bread for some time now, but she didn't think she could bear another afternoon watching Quinn model and display herself without physically jumping her in the evening. Besides, she wasn't exactly dressed up, and if this was a date, she was definitely dressing up. So she spent most of the afternoon bathing and making herself pretty in a little black dress and a bun for her hair. Modest, because she wasn't sure where they'd be going, but classy, like Quinn.

Rachel held a cab while she waited at the curb, smoothing out the skirt of her dress impatiently until Quinn appeared, slipping a piece of gum into her mouth and smiling upon spotting Rachel.

"You're punctual, I like it," Quinn commented in lieu of a greeting, and Rachel beamed up at her.

"Good, because it's one of my more annoying virtues." She giggled and gestured behind her. "I didn't know where we're going or anything, but I thought I'd hold a cab while I actually had one for once."

"You mean you don't have the evening planned?" Quinn drawled.

Rachel froze. Quinn was right, what had she been thinking? She had paid for everything last week and now it should've been Rachel's turn to decide on something, even if it was just going back to the cafe and talking for a while. Her life was becoming a string of bad decisions, or at least today was, first snooping in Quinn's life and not buying an extra cup of coffee and now this.

"Rachel. Relax, I'm joking. Come on." Quinn slipped past her, taking one of Rachel's hands to draw her into the backseat of the cab.

Rachel was far too stunned by the feel of Quinn's soft, warm fingers to do anything but plop in next to her. Quinn gave an address Rachel didn't recognize to the driver and closed the privacy glass before she leaned back again. She hadn't let go of Rachel's hand.

"Are you okay?"

Rachel nodded. "Uh huh."

"You seem jumpier than usual today."

"I am not jumpy!" she yelped indignantly, but as soon as she glanced over, she found a grin on Quinn's face. She blushed. "You're joking. Again."

"Yes. What's the matter?"

Her thumb brushed over the back of Rachel's and she swallowed thickly. Tingles were spreading all over from the point of contact, like a web of intimacy and pleasure that wrapped around her, clutching her closer. Making her face even redder. Quinn was so tender in the way she touched, too, offering only the barest sensation of finger pads whispering across Rachel's skin. If Rachel was perfectly honest, it was the most arousing thing she'd ever felt - her nipples were starting to feel rather uncomfortable against the fabric of her bra.

And with all that going on, how was she supposed to _not_ be completely honest with Quinn? She was sure if she wasn't, she'd hate herself for the rest of the evening and that would ruin everything even if Quinn never found out about her inappropriate snooping.

"Kurt and I kind of...looked over your resume today," she admitted, almost drawing her hand away preemptively. Her eyes squeezed shut, waiting, but nothing came, so she glanced over quickly.

Quinn's head was tilted to peek at her, and her pink lips curved as she spied Rachel's eye. "Okay."

Rachel let out a puff of breath. "You're not mad?"

She laughed, brief but full. "Rachel, it's my resume, it's not exactly federal secrets. Besides, I more or less assumed Kurt would look at it at some point. I thought perhaps before he hired me rather than after, but…"

"Oh. Right." Rachel cleared her throat, feeling a bit silly now.

Quinn was right - again. It was just a resume; it wasn't as if she was learning anything especially intimate or important from it. Outside of the fact that the woman she was going on a date with was a genius and Rachel was just average. It wasn't that she hadn't done well in school, but she'd worked hard at it. And even so, she certainly wouldn't have been able to get into an Ivy League school. Let alone have gotten a 4.0 there.

Quinn's fingers squeezed minutely, and Rachel's gaze jumped back over to her steady smile.

"If you want to know more about me, though, might I suggest just asking?"

Rachel paused. "But what if I ask something too personal?"

"Then I'll tell you I'll answer it at another time." Quinn shrugged.

Her eyes narrowed briefly. "So I can basically ask anything."

A nod. "Anything."

"I have a lot of questions," she warned.

Quinn just smiled. "I've got time."

Rachel bit down a grin. "So Yale."


	11. Part 11

**Part 11**

By the time the cab stopped at a little Italian bistro, Rachel had learned all about how Quinn ended up going to Yale. It was a family tradition, apparently - or family heritage, anyway, it was a matter of family pride, to attend an Ivy League school. Her mother had even attended Brown. So when the time came to apply, Quinn had simply sent in her application to all of them and wound up getting into a few, but chose Yale because it was on the opposite side of the country from her family and because of its certain reputation regarding lesbians - although Quinn admitted she wasn't quite open to it at that very moment, she had enough curiosity for that to tip the scales in Yale's favor.

Her family, Rachel also found out, consisted of an older sister with whom Quinn was not close at all, almost to the point that she was like an only child anyway, and divorced parents. Her mother had apparently found out about her father's cheating shortly after Quinn moved to Yale and put a decisive stop to it all.

After the waitress seated them and they made their drink orders, Rachel picked up the menu and prompted, "So you said the opposite side of the country; where were you born then?"

"Savannah."

Quinn, Rachel had come to realize, tended to give out the shortest answers possible. In anyone else, it might've been annoying to her, but in a way, it was kind of appealing with Quinn. It gave Rachel more opportunity to dig, instead of finding out everything at once and faltering for a lack of anything else to discuss.

"Savannah...like the African savannah, or…?" She grinned to Quinn's smirk.

"Georgia," she supplied.

"Georgia. But you don't - "

"Have an accent?" Quinn drawled, and Rachel's jaw dropped - and so would her panties, if she'd been standing - as that husky voice fell into a light Southern lull. "People tend to take you more seriously as an intelligent person if you don't speak like a Southern hick. Besides, I only lived there until I was ten, just long enough to be able to talk like this." She winked.

Rachel squirmed in her seat, clearing her throat. "Well. Hm. Well, where did you live after you that?"

Quinn's accent had dropped when she spoke again, but suddenly Rachel couldn't contain her reaction to that voice regardless, and squirming became the least of her problems.

"We moved to Chicago for my father's work. Actually, we almost moved to Lima when I was fourteen."

Rachel's brow rose - thank God for something else to focus on. "Really?"

Quinn nodded. "It was either going to be my father or another coworker. Just a flip of a coin decided that we got Seattle and he got Lima."

"Wow." Rachel hummed.

Quinn in Lima. Her hometown. She couldn't imagine it, this gorgeous woman in that wretched place. So unglamorous compared to her, it wouldn't have been right. Before Rachel could ponder it any further, the waitress returned with their drinks to take their menus and orders, and by the time she left, Rachel was more curious about Quinn's own high school experience, though Quinn said very little about it. Rather, even less than usual, and no amount of digging seemed to get her to offer up more information this time.

All she said was that it had been fairly uneventful save for her hormones and budding attraction to women, and that she had been the head cheerleader and therefore popular among her peers. Rachel wasn't really all that surprised to hear it. She couldn't imagine someone as beautiful and gracious as Quinn being _un_popular. But since she still seemed uncomfortable with the topic, Rachel moved on.

Over the course of dinner and dessert, she found out that Quinn's first girlfriend had been the reason for her minor in drama - she had suggested she try out a few classes and Quinn, infatuated at the time, agreed in order to be closer to her and wound up enjoying it for its own purposes. Rachel also found out that it wasn't Quinn's first brush with the arts, however - as a teenager, she had evidently been involved with ballet and still practiced it sometimes before or after a workout. She also had a very strict workout schedule, not because she was vain or obsessed with keeping her body attractive, but because she actually enjoyed exercising. This was a foreign concept to Rachel, but she liked it about Quinn anyway.

She also dug into the reason for the modeling, when Quinn had a Bachelor's in Marketing and could easily have become an actress with her minor. Apparently that had begun in college, starting out as a favor to a friend who was designing an ad for a class, and then she proceeded to get more and more and more offers, and after college, had found a job at a magazine in California, where her girlfriend of the moment also happened to be moving. The relationship didn't last, and neither did Quinn's enjoyment of the job or of sunny California, so she'd decided to try New York City.

This - finally - led Rachel into being able to dig around the money issue, where she found out that Quinn not only had saved every penny she'd earned since she was young, but she had a large trust fund open to her at eighteen, set up by her very wealthy grandparents, and she'd invested wisely until she had all the money she or a partner would ever need to live a comfortable lifestyle.

Quinn was very nonchalant about it all, as if having so much money was of little consequence, and though it wouldn't have mattered to Rachel if Quinn was a pauper, she couldn't help but find the attitude a little surprising. She supposed it was because she had always lived a comfortable but middle class life, while it seemed that Quinn's family had never wanted for money, even before she'd had a trust fund.

And Rachel felt better, knowing all of this. Quinn knew so much about her, and now she knew so much about Quinn. About a few failed relationships, about some of her interests, about the course of her life, her history. She was definitely not a serial killer, and now the two of them were on an even keel. Rachel felt it, the comfort of knowing they were knowing each other and it wasn't just one-sided, while Quinn walked her home from the restaurant, holding her hand in that tender way.

She couldn't help but smile admiringly up at her. "So what do you do with all your spare time? When you're not modeling for Kurt, I mean."

Quinn hummed, that mischievous twist coming into her lips and Rachel was already blushing at it when she said, "Stuff. And things. But mostly stuff." She grinned wryly.

"Oh, _stuff_. That explains it all." Rachel nodded to herself, giggling when Quinn bumped shoulders with her.

"I'll show you sometime. When we're out."

Rachel nodded her chin again, smiling wider now. "Okay." She breathed in the cool air as they walked along. "Thank you for telling me all that tonight. I feel a lot better that I didn't do _all_ the talking this time."

"I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable last week."

"No! You don't need to apologize, you didn't do anything wrong," she chuckled, squeezing Quinn's gentle hand. "It's just that I tend to get really invested really fast, especially when I like someone like I like you." She dropped her head with a blush. "And that tends to scare people off, so I don't know, it's just nice to feel like you want to share with me, too."

"I do." Quinn tugged at her hand, pulling her to a stop. "I like you very much, Rachel."

She bit down a beam and nodded. "I like you, too."

She smiled. "So I can try to be more...open if that's what you'd like."

"No, don't change a thing." Rachel squeezed her hand. "I kind of like being nosy, anyway."

Quinn grinned at her and it almost looked for a moment like she was moving closer - in fact, she was, Rachel realized a moment too late, when she was unprepared for the soft sweetness of Quinn Fabray's lips against hers. All the breath in her lungs suspended there, waiting for her brain to get back in gear, and her heart jumped in her chest with the electric shock of Quinn Fabray gently kissing her. It only lasted for a moment, and Rachel only just tasted the leftover moisture of the red wine she'd had earlier on Quinn's tender lips, but it was enough to make her want to stay attached to that mouth forever.

When Quinn pulled back and looked at her, it was the first time Rachel could remember ever being completely speechless. But she managed to smile, to link arms with Quinn when she offered her elbow, and somehow made it home, though she wasn't sure how because her body was buzzing and fuzzy and her knees felt weak. And it only got worse when Quinn kissed her good night at her door and then kissed her hand and backed away with that beautiful smile and those sparkling starburst eyes.

And Rachel could only rock back against the door and murmur to herself, "I'm in big trouble."


	12. Part 12

**Part 12**

Rachel was markedly giddy for the rest of the week. Even her director noticed and commented that the ballerina didn't need to be _quite_ so enthusiastic. She attempted to tone it down for the play's sake, but she really couldn't help herself. Every time she tried to school herself, to focus on anything, her thoughts jumped back to Quinn and her smile and her kisses and before she knew it, she was filled with joy and anticipation not only for next week, but for Quinn's call.

After Rachel sucked it up the morning after their date and called Quinn, they'd taken up a routine of chatting in the early morning together. Just over the phone, nothing special. Rachel could hear her getting coffee around and munching on her breakfast and once brushing her teeth and tried to match her as they made what primarily consisted of small talk. How was your day yesterday, what did you do, what are you having for breakfast.

It was via these calls that Rachel also found out that Quinn had a pet she hadn't mentioned - a cat which Quinn described as a fuzzy orange demon and, in fact, his name was Beezy after Beelzebub. Rachel would hear Quinn patiently saying no, down, stop that, and it set her into a fit of giggles each and every time, particularly when Quinn had been in the middle of a sentence and stopped to say something like, 'If you knock that over again, I'm going to string you up by your tail. Thank you.'

It was a new kind of intimacy Rachel had never experienced, getting around in the morning with someone over the phone. Like a modern way to connect, which they were doing quite well. Quinn never grew tired or impatient of her rambling no matter how often Rachel fell into the habit, and Rachel never grew tired of digging at Quinn for more information. It was almost fun now, like a game where Quinn tried to give the least information she could and Rachel baited her into giving more and more. Rachel wasn't sure who was winning, but she was delighted by it all the same.

So when she walked into the studio at lunch, clutching the brown bag and a tray of drinks carefully out of Dante's reach, it was with more of a bounce and it was with a big grin.

Dante, of course, whined at her for it. "Hey, come on now."

"You don't know how to share, so I will be taking over distribution, thank you very much." Rachel set down both bag and tray on his work table, producing his thick meat sandwich and the creamy coffee he'd requested and passing them over to him. "For you."

Kurt emerged from his office shortly and kissed her cheek as he took the slim BLT and espresso she handed over to him. "I thought I heard you out here, thank you."

Lainey set her camera down across the room and came trotting over. "Oh, thank God for you, I didn't get any breakfast."

Rachel giggled. "I didn't know what kind of coffee you took, Lainey, but I guessed three sugars?" She lifted out the styrofoam cup and her sandwich, which primarily consisted of cheese.

"Two, but this'll be perfect today."

She accepted it with a smile before sitting, and Rachel glanced around for the final party, only to squeak when a finger trailed swiftly up her spine to tug her pony lightly. She fell into giggles once the shock wore off, glancing back at Quinn with the shyest grin - only shy because she could feel her face going bright red, and Quinn hadn't even smirked at her or teased her yet.

"Good afternoon," Quinn greeted, and then her head was over Rachel's shoulder and she could feel her strong frame practically holding her up, and nearly melted with delight. "Got anything in that bag for me?"

Rachel grinned and picked up her coffee first before turning about to give her the biggest sandwich. "I surely do. You need to tell me next time what kind of toppings you like on your sandwich, though, I've been at a loss on your style."

"My sandwich style?" Quinn smirked, sipping her drink.

Rachel gave a nod. "Precisely. Of course, for you, I could probably just bring bread, right? Why waste its natural form?"

She fell into another round of giggles when Quinn pinched her side, flushing brightly until a throat cleared and she glanced over at the other three. Dante was holding his sandwich halfway to his mouth, staring, and Lainey looked particularly fascinated. Kurt just quirked his eyebrow at them.

Rachel suddenly felt rather sheepish. "What?"

"Nothing," Lainey said, at the same time as Dante answered, "No, please, continue" and Kurt replied, "Have something to tell us?"

Rachel bit on her bottom lip, peering up at Quinn briefly. She raised her eyebrows and lowered her coffee abruptly.

"We're dating now," she supplied, nodding, and then sipped her coffee again.

"I was hoping you were gonna say doing it," Dante said, then shrugged and turned back to his food, suddenly uninterested again, at least until Rachel squealed because Quinn gave her a light swat on the rear.

Quinn smirked at all of them. "Not yet."

Rachel's blush turned almost purple, but she couldn't help grinning as she gripped Quinn by the collar of her top and tugged her along to the dressing room, coaxing, "Come on, you."

She rather suddenly felt the need for kisses, and she wasn't about to deny herself that pleasure now.

#

After Quinn finished with work, the two of them went out for another evening of walking and talking, occasionally stopping for light, short, sweet kisses as they had in the dressing room and each time, Rachel felt as if her head was being stuffed with clouds. And it went like this for the next few weeks. They spoke on the phone in the mornings in lieu of meeting and Rachel went to rehearsals in the afternoon, and then on her day off, she brought lunch to Quinn and after Quinn got off of work, they spent the evening together, walking, talking, dining, kissing.

But it was always light kisses, tender kisses, slow kisses. They were enjoyable, sensual, and lovely. But they were driving Rachel crazy. The more she got to know Quinn, the more she liked her, and the more she liked her, the more she wanted her. But Quinn was chivalrous - part of her attractiveness. She didn't ask to come up, she didn't try to slip her tongue, she kept her hands in appropriate places - though even the appropriate places were enough of a tease to leave Rachel no choice but to grab her vibrator at the end of the night.

And she opened doors for Rachel, pulled out her chairs, took her coat. She hugged Rachel and held her hand, and she told her about Savannah and Chicago and Seattle and Los Angeles. She could've written a travel book, Rachel was certain, the way she described things so that even the negative things, like the trash of Los Angeles or the rats in Chicago, sounded fantastical and exotic. And Rachel would never get enough of that voice purring to her, telling her of the heat of Savannah summers and the constant smell of rain in Seattle. Or anything else Rachel prodded Quinn into telling her about, sitting there leaning into her strong frame and breathing in her perfume mixed with her natural scent, while Quinn ran long fingers through her hair.

There was a comfort and simultaneous excitement in being with Quinn that Rachel hadn't felt in a long time. She made her feel safe and warm with her arms and gentle touches and soft voice; but at the same time, stirred her arousal beyond any reasonable level with her sensual kisses and burning gaze and predatory smirks. It was just perfect, the perfect balance of newness and at the same time, an odd kind of familiarity.

The only problem was, Rachel didn't feel it going anywhere. It might have been a mere friendship if not for the kissing. Not that she was only in it for the kissing, but when Quinn said good night and kissed her one more time and left her standing, trembling with need, every single time they spent the evening together, she wanted to scream, and teasing had a whole new meaning.

She began to wonder if maybe she was doing something wrong. Maybe she should be more assertive, invite Quinn in. Ask her why she hadn't moved forward at all. But a part of her feared the answers. What if she just wasn't that attractive to Quinn? What if, now that they were getting to know each other, Quinn realized Rachel simply wasn't on _her_ level, intelligence wise? And what was she going to do if Quinn broke up with her?

Rachel didn't think she could bear someone as wonderful and generous and kind and caring and beautiful and smart and sexy as Quinn turning her down, though she would've entirely understood if she did, because Rachel wasn't any of those things. She didn't think she could express that to Quinn and have her understand, because any time Rachel said something detrimental about herself, Quinn brushed it aside, refused the very concept that there was something wrong with Rachel.

But maybe it was time to talk to Kurt again.


	13. Part 13

**Part 13**

"Look what the cat dragged in," Kurt drawled, leaning back in his kitchen chair like he was the king of the world.

Blaine shared a chuckle with Rachel before he plopped back down to resume munching on his breakfast and looking over the morning paper. Rachel, in turn, pranced forward with a special white bag that instantly had Kurt perking up.

"Good morning to you, too. Guess what I brought…" she sing-songed, plopping across from him and pushing the bag over.

He peeked inside after a moment and groaned, "God, you're a good groveler," before plucking out a fresh-baked doughnut with the tissue paper.

Rachel grinned easily. "I know, I haven't been around much lately. But you know how I get in new relationships, it's very exciting for me. I go a little haywire. But I'm back now!"

Kurt paused, halfway to taking a bite, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Wait a second. You're not done yet; you've got that look."

She tried for doe-eyed. "What look?"

Kurt shoved the doughnut back in the bag and folded his arms. "These are lie doughnuts. You want advice. Don't you?"

Dammit. Rachel sighed, reaching for the bag, but Kurt snatched for it, too.

"Where do you think you're going with that?"

"No advice, no doughnuts."

"I didn't say I wouldn't give you advice," he grunted, and Rachel smirked as she released the bag. "I just want to wait to enjoy them until I've finished telling you that I have zero insight into Quinn and how she feels about you. We haven't even been needing her lately; kind of running out of clothes to _put_ her in. And when she is there, she's all business, doesn't talk about you or anything personal at all."

Rachel rolled her eyes - Kurt would twist professionalism into a bad thing. "Quinn won't sleep with me."

Blaine choked on his cereal, and Kurt pounded him on the back briefly, narrowing his eyes.

"Won't or hasn't yet?"

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. "I don't really know, because we haven't gone past kissing at my door. My apartment building door, to be precise. She hasn't even been on my floor, let alone in my apartment. Let alone in my bed."

Kurt hummed, drumming his fingers on the table. "Have you been to hers?"

She scoffed. "I haven't even been to the building. She always walks me home and then that's it."

"Right, but you're still going out, correct?" She nodded. "And she still kisses you?" She nodded, waving a hand for him to get to the point. "And she hasn't indicated she wants to stop any of this?"

Rachel huffed. "No. But we're not moving _forward_, either. I don't even care if we have sex yet, but if she would just, I don't know. Come up. Or act interested."

"I think you're making a big deal out of nothing," Kurt said at last, and Rachel gaped. "She's probably just a slow mover. You know, one of those...gentlemanly lesbians."

Blaine nodded his agreement. "She seems the type to me."

Rachel frowned. "Have you even met her?"

"No, but Kurt's told me about her. Ice Queen type, right?"

"Why does everyone keep calling her that?"

"Because it's true," Kurt interjected. "Come on, Rachel, she's pretty much…" He snapped his fingers. "Elsa. She's Elsa from Frozen. Except less magical snow powers."

"In what way is she Elsa? And who does that make me?" Rachel felt her eyebrow pick up.

"She's blonde and mysterious and kind of keeps to herself."

"Blonde is a character trait now?"

"Look, it fits. Just because she's all nice and sparkly with _you_. With the rest of us, she's just kind of…" Kurt considered carefully, stroking his chin. "She's not mean or anything, but she's very aloof. Like she doesn't want people too close. Like she has serious trust issues."

Rachel's lower lip poked out. "She trusts me just fine… I mean, she tells me everything I ask about."

"Then maybe she's waiting for you to make a move," Blaine said absently.

Rachel perked up. "I never thought of that. I didn't want to be too, like...you know."

"Slutty?" Kurt prompted.

She shot him a quick glare and turned to Blaine instead. "It's just that she's _so_...perfect, you know? And she's always so calm, I feel like if I get too extreme on one thing or another, I might scare her off."

"So you don't trust _her_," Kurt concluded.

She put a hand up to cover his face from her view. "What do you think, Blaine?"

"I think, um." He glanced between the two of them. "I think you should probably stop worrying about it, because if she doesn't like you as you are, then it's probably not going to work out anyway. Besides, I'm sure she has her own flaws. Everybody does."

Rachel sat back then, humming in thought. That was true. Quinn couldn't be as perfect as she seemed. Or maybe she could, but either way, if Quinn couldn't like an imperfect human being, she was going to have trouble finding someone. And anyway, Quinn hadn't been annoyed by her yet. Maybe she liked imperfect human beings. Maybe she liked imperfect Rachel.

"Says Mr. Perfect," Kurt grunted, rolling his eyes.

Blaine sighed, adjusting the newspaper in front of him. "I am not...perfect. I make mistakes all the time."

Kurt scoffed. "Like when?"

"Like when I decided to contribute to this conversation." Blaine cleared his throat. "Personally, I would bring all this up with Quinn. And I mean, all of it."

Rachel muffled her smile and nodded. "You don't think a 'where is this going' conversation is too scary this early on?"

"You've been dating a few weeks now, right?"

Rachel nodded and paused, eyes going wider. "Yeah, like...four or five. Wow. We've been dating a _month_."

"You're just realizing this," Kurt noted.

"Well...it hasn't seemed that long," she defended, folding her arms. "Things have just been so easy and fun and…" She trailed off with a grin.

"I'd say not too soon," Blaine cut back in.

"When are you seeing her next?"

Rachel brightened. "Tomorrow, she's taking me out all day."

"You mean you're not going to bring us lunch?" Kurt promptly pouted.

"I just brought you doughnuts," she pointed out, gesturing to the untouched bag.

He folded his arms, muttering, "But they were lie doughnuts."

Rachel rolled her eyes.


	14. Part 14

**Part 14**

Rachel had several different approaches for her conversation with Quinn ready by the next morning. It all depended on how the day went which one she would use, of course, but somehow she would slide it in somewhere. She needed to know, she needed a definitive answer. Was their relationship going somewhere? Did Quinn really like her, or did she just feel stuck now that they'd been seeing each other for a while? A month, in fact.

The time had flown by so quickly Rachel had hardly noticed it. It was, of course, partly due to the fact that Rachel was still rehearsing and performing the musical of The Nutcracker almost every single day, so even though she spoke on the phone with Quinn almost every single morning, they only saw each other once a week. And though it was for long stretches of time, hours together, talking and leaning into each other, it added up to very few actual dates.

Yet Rachel already felt so attached. On the one hand, it was like no time had passed at all, but on the other, she felt like she'd known Quinn for years. There was a familiarity to her company; something they'd just fallen into, like their perfect kisses - small and short as they were. Except she still didn't really know Quinn all that well.

Sure, Rachel knew much more about Quinn's history and her family since the date she had dug into all that, and she definitely knew Quinn's lips, and she knew Quinn's personality. And she knew menial things, but she didn't know Quinn's life in the present. She didn't know her friends - Quinn had at least met Kurt, Rachel's first and best friend in the world. She didn't know what Quinn did every day, whether it was work or play or if she even did anything. Still, if their conversation today went well, hopefully Rachel would be finding out about all that soon enough.

Quinn arrived outside Rachel's apartment building at ten o'clock on the dot, as promised, looking ravishing as always in her winter garb and a smile. Rachel trotted down the front steps to hop into the cab with her as they exchanged greetings and - to Rachel's surprise - a quick peck on the lips. She did her best not to mention it all right then and there, avoiding every instinct she had in the process. After all, Kurt always warned her about the way she ambushed people and she definitely didn't want to ambush Quinn.

"So, what are we doing today?" Rachel prompted once Quinn closed the window between the back and the driver, setting her hands primly on her knee.

"You wanted to know what I do aside from modeling. You're about to find out."

A thrill ran straight up Rachel's spine. "Really?"

That sly smirk curled Quinn's lip before she straightened them to press a kiss to Rachel's knuckles, giving her heart palpitations in the process. "Yes, really."

Rachel scooted over into Quinn's side then, squeezing fingers together as she cuddled into that familiar shoulder. Quinn's fingers almost immediately picked up the thread of Rachel's hair, and they talked quietly about their mornings until the cab came to a stop outside of one of New York City's Gay and Lesbian Centers. Rachel peered curiously up at Quinn's unreadable face, but she only paid the driver and ushered Rachel out, taking up her hand again as they walked into the building.

Quinn waved to the man at the front desk before she finally answered Rachel's quizzical expression. "This is it."

Rachel's eyebrows rose higher. "You do the Gay and Lesbian Center?"

Quinn chuckled, tugging Rachel along the halls. "I volunteer here. Sometimes as a counselor, sometimes with their budgeting, but for the most part, I put my Bachelor's in Marketing to use here. I help them advertise events, come up with logos and designs, taglines, that kind of thing." She bit into a perfect bottom lip. "I do the same thing for one of the anti-bullying groups a few blocks down."

Rachel could do nothing but gawk up at Quinn. Not only was she the physical embodiment of perfection - she had just achieved it in every facet, every way possible, every way _imaginable_. There was no conceivable way Rachel was with someone like Quinn Fabray, because there was no way Quinn Fabray existed. An adorable, gorgeous, sexy, amazing kisser of a blonde lesbian woman who only modeled for companies that don't use Photoshop and had so much money she didn't need to but did so for less money for someone who needed it, and on top of that, spent her spare time counseling, budgeting, and marketing for anti-bullying and LGBT centers?

Rachel hauled Quinn to a stop and kissed her on the spot, probably more enthusiastically than she should've in public - but she didn't care. Quinn Fabray was perfect. _Perfect_.

And she kissed Rachel back with just as much enthusiasm, so that Rachel was infused with joy and arousal at once by Quinn's expertise and her interest in Rachel's mouth. They were dueling tongues before Rachel knew it, and she could hardly stand up anymore, her head fuzzy with the taste of Quinn and mint. She gripped hard at Quinn's coat to keep herself steady, curling the fabric in her fingers, and smiled despite everything already happening with her mouth when Quinn hugged her close.

By the time they parted, Rachel knew she was a sopping mess and she wanted nothing more than to haul Quinn back to her apartment. And she knew Quinn wanted the same the moment they met eyes. Her hazel gaze was so dark, it was practically gold-rimmed, and the predatory look Rachel had been fantasizing about since she first saw Quinn was right there, staring her down with such intensity it sent a shudder down her spine and more juices to ruin her panties.

Yet between shared, panted breaths, Rachel managed to say, "I was wondering...if you were ever going to give me more than a peck. Actually, I was wondering if you were...even attracted to me." She blushed at her own admission, smoothing out the lapel of Quinn's coat.

Quinn's eyebrow quirked and she breathed back, "I am _very_ attracted to you. But I didn't want to rush you, it sounded like you'd only recently broken up with your longtime boyfriend, so - "

Rachel shut her up with another kiss. She simply couldn't stand this much perfection. It simply wasn't fair. But before she could do anything about it, their second passion-fueled kiss was interrupted by someone needing to get through, and they reluctantly drew back to get out of the way. It was only seeing the smirk on the passing woman's face that made Rachel blush, and it deepened when Quinn chuckled. She leaned her head against her chest, nuzzling, and Quinn petted her hair.

"C'mon. I have more to show you."

Rachel peeked up at her. "More?"

"You didn't think I showed up at ten this morning to give you a five minute tour of this place, did you?" Quinn smiled brilliantly. "Besides, I do other things with my time."

"Oh, other things, hm?" Rachel grinned.

"Indeed."

Quinn smirked and squeezed her closer, and Rachel couldn't resist stealing one more kiss before Quinn led her through the rest of the center. She stopped to show Rachel where her 'office' was, though it was shared by multiple people, where she spent most of her counseling time in a more comfortable looking lounge area, and introduced her to the secretary at the front desk and one of the heads of the center before they took off for their next destination. Quinn pointed out the building where the anti-bullying group met when they passed and spent most of the ride answering Rachel's questions about the specifics of her volunteer work and upcoming projects or events. Quinn also pointed out her gym when they passed it, mentioning she'd been attending self-defense classes there, as she had since she was sixteen.

The next stop, as it turned out, was brunch at a little French cafe (which also served vegan food, of course) and, as usually happened when the two of them were at a restaurant of some kind, they wound up talking and talking until the waiter was glaring at them and Quinn finally gave in and paid. They stopped at a coffeeshop near Quinn's place, and Rachel couldn't help the hope that perhaps they were going to be winding down the evening with a bottle of wine on Quinn's couch - but she tried to keep it tucked away in favor of enjoying the exploration of Quinn's life, of Quinn's favorite coffee place.

When they next headed to a used bookstore, however, Rachel's attention was thoroughly caught.

"So what is it you do here? More advertising, printing business cards?" Rachel prompted as they swept through the aisles, and Quinn smiled back at her.

"No, I just buy books. Did I not mention I'm in love with literature?"

Rachel's eyebrows popped up, amused. "No, I don't think it's come up."

"Good." Quinn stopped abruptly, running her fingers across the bindings before she plucked one book off the shelf. "Do you have this?"

Rachel peered down at it abruptly. Broadway Theatres: History and Architecture. "No…but I've been looking for it forever."

"Good." Quinn smiled and headed back toward the cash register, book in hand.

Rachel was quick to grab her unoccupied hand. "Quinn! You don't have to - "

"I want to." She stopped, nonetheless, when Rachel tugged her back. "I've been thinking of getting it for you almost since we met. I just needed to know if you had it."

Rachel's shoulders dropped, and she couldn't resist stroking that beautiful face. "Why are you so sweet to me?"

Quinn smiled. "Because I like you. And I like seeing you smile."

Rachel kissed her again - not so fiercely as the last two times, but firmly, still. "This day had better end up in private _somewhere_."

Quinn just grinned and turned back toward the cash register.


	15. Part 15

**Part 15**

With her newly prized book in one hand and Quinn's in the other, Rachel followed her out of the used bookstore, with promises that they would come back sometime to look for more treasures together, and back out into the world - Quinn's world. As it said on her resume, she lived in the Flatiron District, and so Rachel was left gaping as they strolled through the ritzy neighborhoods, past beautiful buildings to find the little places Quinn called home. They didn't stop into many more of them, but Quinn pointed out her favorite grocery store, her favorite bar, her favorite restaurant, and Rachel internalized all the information as they swung hands together, right up until streetlights started to flicker on.

It was then that Quinn steered them in a new direction and in a few moments, she was drawing Rachel into an apartment building and then into the elevator. Rachel could hardly contain her joy, popping up to kiss Quinn's cheek over and over until her snow angel chuckled and wrangled Rachel into her arms to give her a proper kiss.

"You're so damn cute," she murmured against her lips, and Rachel beamed.

"I'm glad you think so."

Quinn's eyebrow quirked. "Ooh, accepting a compliment for once, are we?"

"I accept compliments when they're applicable to me." Rachel giggled, pecking her lips. "And I am _damn_ cute." She winked.

Quinn grinned dazzingly before she dipped her chin lower, kissing Rachel's chin in turn. "And adorable."

Rachel tangled her fingers in Quinn's thick blonde hair, smiling blissfully. "Almost the same thing, but continue."

Quinn's soft lips brushed her nose. "And beautiful."

"Hmm. Not nearly as beautiful as you-know-who."

Quinn's eyebrow cocked again - Rachel kissed it. "Voldemort?"

Rachel squeaked out a laugh. "No, _you_, you - you goober."

"Goober?" Her teeth flashed in a giggle.

She blushed in spite of herself. "I can't insult under pressure."

Quinn was smiling, eyes sparkling in the light of the elevator. "Have I mentioned how much I adore you lately?"

Rachel's cheeks flamed. "Mm, no. Not lately."

"Well, I do."

And then she leaned in, and Rachel was taken to heaven all over again under another one of those tender kisses. Barely there, but so sweet she could hardly keep her feet on the ground. The elevator dinged, and Quinn echoed Rachel's sigh before she led her along again, just down the hallway, and opened up the door for her.

"Come on in."

Quinn's apartment wasn't just an apartment - it was a penthouse. A lap of luxury. Almost everything was designed in black - not just black, ebony - or white - not just white, ivory - or stainless steel, in the case of the kitchen - chrome, perhaps, was a better word. It was all sheek and elegant and Rachel immediately felt out of place. It wasn't that she was poor herself, of course. She did well for herself, as a Broadway star and a one-time movie actress. But she wasn't _this_ rich, and even as well as she did, she didn't build her home like this.

Rachel's home was markedly more, well, homey, when she thought about it. There were pictures everywhere - of her dads, her and Kurt, Kurt and Blaine, their other old friends, like Mercedes and Tina. Even a few of Artie here and there. Everything was decorated brightly, the way she had done her room up in high school - well, maybe a _bit_ more subdued than that. But her place was bright. Pinks and yellows. A big comfy couch in the living room with all kinds of throws and pillows for comfortable sitting; sheet music and books of music and music magazines lying around - not necessarily disorganized, but available.

In a word, Rachel's home was lived-in. Quinn's home was...sterile. Sheek. Like Quinn. Sharp and clean and neat and sophisticated. But in some way, it didn't feel like Quinn, either. It didn't have her warmth, her smile in it, the way she was when she was with Rachel. The way she was smiling at her now as she took her coat and purse to hang in the coat closet, brushing her fingers along Rachel's neck and arms.

"It's - " Rachel thought for a moment " - lovely."

"It's all right," Quinn countered, and then took a breath. "So. Are you hungry?"

Rachel's eyebrows popped up. "You cook?"

"One of the other things I do with my life of leisure."

Quinn winked, tangling her fingers with Rachel's to lead her into the kitchen. Rachel popped herself up on a stool at the island to watch when she started pulling out pans and pots and ingredients - and wine and glasses, which she served first before she went about preparing their meal, which she explained would be a rigatoni peperonata, a vegan dish she had looked up just for this very occasion. While she cooked and tasted, they took up conversing about different recipes they had found, how Rachel had always been better at baking, though it was difficult to be a baker when one was vegan, but how she had found ways around it with the help of the internet. She also shared the story of her turn to veganism, how it had started with discovering that eggs weren't just a breakfast food, but that they carried baby chicks, and from there she'd found more and more horrific discoveries - hamburgers came from poor cows, bacon from little piggies. For a while, she'd eaten fish, but then Finding Nemo came out. Quinn had promptly stopped cooking just to kiss her for that.

They moved to the dining area once dinner was ready, Quinn taking the wine bottle with them for refills, and Rachel was awed again by the small but elegant dining room with its glass table and proud candelabras. Quinn lit a few of them before they ate, and once again, Rachel forgot all about her surroundings with the easy company and warm smile of her snow angel. Quinn explained that while she, too, was no fan of how most animals were prepared for eating and that she was strongly against horse slaughter, in particular, she had developed a lifelong love of bacon starting with her grandparents in Georgia. Quinn the child had been at her happiest staying with them, and it sizzled on the griddle every morning.

As their plates heaped lower and the candles flickered dimly, Rachel leaned back to stretch out her full and sated stomach, sipping at her wine in unison with Quinn, who smirked across at her.

"I want a tour of your haunts, too, you know."

"Oh, be careful what you wish for, you might get a day long guided tour of my theater," Rachel giggled out. "With a map. And PowerPoint notes."

"That's exactly what I want," Quinn returned, and Rachel was once again taken by those eyes, intent and wandering. "And I think it's about time I heard you sing, too."

Rachel grinned. "I wouldn't be in any rush. I'll take any excuse to sing; you'll be sick of it soon enough. I'd sing for you right here, right now, and you'd never get me to shut up."

"Do it." Quinn gestured faintly.

She laughed. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Come on. I want to hear you belt it, baby."

Quinn winked, and Rachel couldn't have resisted that with laryngitis and a ball gag - she'd have sung anyway. So she cleared her throat, trying not to smile too large as she smoothed her skirt and stood, taking a few deep breaths from her diaphragm in lieu of warming up. Quinn, in turn, sat back more comfortably, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands together, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Smiling up at Rachel in that way of hers, the way that sent a flush of heat from her toes to her ears.

Still, she breathed in and out, and then began, '_When I was younger I saw my daddy cry and curse at the wind..._'

Quinn's smile dropped, but Rachel swallowed and continued on, '_And that was the day that I promised, I'd never sing of love, if it does not exist_.'

She couldn't stop smiling around her words as she entered the chorus, a warmth bubbling in her chest as she met Quinn's intent hazel eyes. She held a hand at her own diaphragm to aid with the higher, longer notes without prior warmups, and still Quinn only stared at her, right up until she finished off, '_And I'm on my way to believing_.'

Rachel sucked in a few deep breaths afterward, smiling bashfully at Quinn's stoic, unreadable face. "So...what do you think?"

Her stomach quavered with nerves - Quinn was utterly silent, but then she stood, and stared down at Rachel, and when she kissed her, Rachel's toes curled in her flats and her knees gave up, so that she wound up gripping onto Quinn with a white-knuckle grip, burrowing fingers into the fabric of her top as she tasted the rigatoni on her tongue. Quinn just held her up, kissing and kissing her - no, not just kissing her, _owning_ her mouth, half-carrying her out of the dining room, but it was really only feeling herself fall back onto a leather couch that alerted Rachel to the fact that they had gone anywhere at all - that and Quinn was suddenly too far away, her body was too cold without her and her lips were scorching and tingling with numbness, but Quinn wasn't kissing them and that was quite wrong, in Rachel's book.

But Rachel had been quite right in her vision of Quinn in the bedroom - even if this was only the living room. Her eyes were dangerous, sparking predatorily as she covered Rachel's body, and her whole presence demanded Rachel's attention, demanded her obedience, as she latched onto Rachel's neck with a hungry mouth. Rachel arched up to her with abandon, for more of the sensation of that gorgeous body on top of hers, and hugged onto her shoulders to keep her near, kicking off her flats so that she could wrap her legs around narrow hips, too. But then Quinn rose up from her neck, and Rachel couldn't contain a whine, tugging at her - Quinn was unmoved.

"You are so fucking sexy," she scraped out, and Rachel's flush turned into a blush, even as Quinn's lips met hers, if only for a moment. "And gorgeous." Quinn kissed her neck, and Rachel stretched her head up, smiling. "And - "

The door suddenly sounded like it was being hit repeatedly with a sledgehammer, and a vaguely familiar voice howled, "_Q_! Open up! I can see your lights on under the door! Come on!"

Quinn practically snarled, but she just moved to the other side of Rachel's neck, and though having her pulse sucked on like a popsicle sent heat straight to Rachel's core and she was fairly certain she'd never been more turned on her life with the perfection that was Quinn Fabray on top of her - the shouting and pounding were getting louder with each second they were ignored, and Rachel pressed her hands at Quinn's shoulders.

"Quinn, shouldn't you - "

"Ignore her long enough and she'll go away," Quinn breathed against her ear, and Rachel squirmed, pressing a few desperate kisses of her own to the shoulder in front of her, hugging onto Quinn for one more good whiff of her vanilla smell - all the while grimacing at the pound-pound-pounding.

"It might be an emergency," she murmured reluctantly, and when Quinn groaned instead of sucking her neck again, Rachel loosened her grip.

Quinn kissed her a few more times as she stood up, at least, and Rachel sat up on the couch, readjusting her clothing and hair while Quinn went off to the door. Only a moment later, the pounding stopped, to be replaced by the clacking of heels on the tile in the foyer and then the stomping of feet across the plush carpeting and a raging voice that was only getting more familiar by the moment -

" - when you ignore me, and you should frikkin' know better than to - _Berry_?"

Rachel looked up abruptly. Her jaw dropped. "Santana?"


	16. Part 16

**Part 16**

It felt like someone had just suckerpunched Rachel right in the gut, looking up at Santana Lopez, in Quinn Fabray's apartment. All grown up. Wearing a leopard print coat and a low cut top and tight, tight jeans, with her hair long and fluffed up, makeup layered for a smoky effect, and all that was so very different from that damned Cheerios uniform and tight ponytail and thick makeup, but the look on Santana's face was the same. Disgusted and superior.

And then there was Quinn, catching up to Santana with nary a glance between them. She wasn't surprised by their staring. Which, of course she wasn't. Rachel had told her that she was from Lima, had attended William McKinley High School, and if Quinn knew Santana, was _friends_ with her… Rachel stood on wobbly legs.

"You...you know her?" Her voice squeaked; Quinn grimaced. "You...oh, my God, was this…? Was this some kind of drawn out practical joke? You had to screw Man Hands over one more time?!"

Santana just blinked at her, then looked at Quinn, and jerked a thumb at Rachel. "This is the Rachel you're dating?"

Quinn ignored her, in turn, pressing past her toward Rachel, and her head spun faster and faster, but she managed to back up away from Quinn.

"_No_. That's not what this is at all," Quinn urged softly, and her fingers managed to brush the back of Rachel's hand before she snatched it away. "I swear to you. I would never do anything like that. Ever."

Rachel could feel Quinn's eyes on her. But she couldn't stop staring at Santana, standing there with her arms folded.

"Rachel? I swear, I'd never even heard your name before Kurt told it to me. Santana has never even mentioned you. This wasn't _planned_."

"I can back her up on that; I've been trying to forget your face since high school," Santana interjected.

"Shut up!" Quinn snarled, and for a moment, her face was so dark - Rachel didn't recognize it until Quinn looked back at her, softening.

Rachel gulped, staring now at gentle hazel eyes. "You knew we knew each other, though."

Quinn sighed. "I didn't know for sure. I knew you both went to the same school and that Santana was head cheerleader and you were...unpopular - " Santana scoffed, and there was that darkness again " - but I didn't know if you necessarily..._knew_ each other."

Equilibrium was beginning to return. Rachel's breathing was steadying and her thoughts slowed from their wild spinning with Quinn's soft voice to anchor her. It was just a coincidence. Quinn didn't know about Rachel before they met, and their meeting had been a coincidence of Quinn working for Kurt. Santana wouldn't know if Kurt and Rachel were still friends, after all - why should she? It was like she said, she'd been trying to forget Rachel. And vice versa.

But Quinn was friends with Santana. She was _friends_. With _Santana_.

Rachel shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me you knew her? Or that you knew someone who'd gone to McKinley, or…?"

Quinn's perfect tongue slipped out over her lip, but Rachel refused to be distracted by that beautiful visage right now. Santana huffed impatiently beyond Quinn. She hadn't changed.

"In case you did know her," Quinn whispered. "I knew...I know how she was, back then, and - "

"Oh, so you're owning the fact that you were a bully now?" Rachel squeaked out, half-laughing as she peered over Quinn's shoulder to Santana, who rolled her eyes.

"In your case, I was just honest."

"I said _shut up_!"

Quinn's voice sent a chill straight down Rachel's spine this time - and not the good kind, the kind that she'd just been creating moments ago, on top of Rachel, purring in her ear just so. It was the kind that sent her rollicking a step backward, peering at those dark eyes in question, until they softened all over again.

Her throat flexed with a swallow before she admitted, "Santana didn't tell me how she used to be. I saw, for myself. We've been friends since we were fifteen."

Rachel stared. Since they were fifteen. Since freshman year of high school. Quinn was _friends_ with Santana, since they were _fifteen_. Since Santana took over the head cheerleader position. Since she started a reign of terror and slushies not just from jocks and hockey players, but from cheerleaders, too. Anyone popular, really. Buy a slushie, throw it at a geek. Laugh like hyenas.

And she had _tormented_ Rachel and her friends. The glee club geeks. The freaks.

And gentle, sweet, kind Quinn had been friends with monstrous, vicious, evil Santana. She was _still_ friends with her.

Rachel's jaw flapped. "H-h-how? How were you friends with someone like her? How, if you knew she was such vile, cruel _bully_, then - "

"Because I was the same as her," Quinn cut in. She didn't meet Rachel's eyes.

Rachel lost all breath. "You…"

"I know, she seems like such a sweetheart, doesn't she?" Santana piped up, smirking.

Quinn didn't acknowledge her this time. "I was the head cheerleader at my school. I was the...Head Bitch in Charge. I was the repressed...vile, cruel bully. And we met at the National cheerleading competition, freshman year, and...we've been friends ever since."

Rachel almost lost her dinner. Gentle, sweet, kind Quinn - a bully. Rachel tried to imagine it. She tried to put that dark, angry face on Quinn, that sharp, demonic voice and see it _always_. Tried to put her in a Cheerios uniform, in a tight ponytail, glaring and smirking like the Queen of the World. Sneering as she snarked out vicious words and laughed as her victim burst into tears in front of her.

It was only a glimmer, when Rachel saw it, in her mind's eye. But it was enough. She scooped up her flats and made a beeline for the coat closet. She had to get out of that cold, wretched place, this penthouse with one too many bullies in it.

"No, no, Rachel, wait!" Quinn was hot on her heels. "Please don't go."

Rachel jerked on her coat, slung her purse over her shoulder, and stumbled into the hallway still trying to get her flats back on.

"Rachel, please. I'm not that person anymore."

Quinn spun in front of her as Rachel hit the down button on the elevator, trying to meet her eyes. Rachel stared at the floor.

"Please," Quinn whimpered.

Rachel had never heard her so vulnerable. And on the other hand, moments ago, she had never heard Quinn so sharp.

"You have company," she managed, hoarsely. The back of her eyelids burned.

"I don't want you to go, I want _her_ to go," she insisted.

"And I need some time."

Quinn said nothing, and Rachel slipped past her as the elevator doors opened. In her peripheral vision, she caught Quinn turning around, but she hit the button for the doors to close over and over until they did, and once they were shut, Rachel allowed herself to cry - like a teenage girl, which at the moment, she supposed she was.


	17. Part 17

**Part 17**

It had been a week since Rachel left Quinn's apartment with Santana standing inside it. Quinn had called the next morning - for their usual chat, maybe, or just to say something. Maybe apologize. Rachel rejected the call, and Quinn got the message. There had been no contact since then, and Rachel knew it was ridiculous to feel hurt that Quinn wasn't trying. After all, Rachel had been the one to say she needed time; Quinn was just honoring her wishes.

But it still hurt. She still wondered if she'd just been a joke. It wasn't possible, not with the Quinn she knew, the Quinn she'd grown so fond of. The images didn't fit together, though Rachel tried and tried to make it work. But she couldn't put the bully Quinn with the Quinn she knew. They couldn't be the same unless the Quinn she knew was a farce, and she couldn't be, could she?

Rachel had been with Quinn for a month. A _month_. No one could hold up a facade that long. Could they? But why? Why would Quinn hide herself that way? Why would she pretend? Rachel believed her when she said that Santana had no part in their dating, that Quinn didn't know who she was until they met, but that only made it all the more difficult to wrap her head around. It would make so much sense, be so much _easier_ if Santana were involved in the mess. But she wasn't, in any capacity, save for the fact that she was friends with Quinn.

And even if Rachel could get past the fact that perfect Quinn had been a bully, how could she ever be with someone who was friends with someone who had been so wretched to her? So vile.

Rachel couldn't express any of this to Kurt, though he'd asked what happened. She supposed she'd made it rather obvious that something was wrong. She hadn't been able to stop moping, when she wasn't thinking of how and why Quinn had played this joke on her. Or how Quinn might've bullied people. If she threw slushies in people's faces and laughed while chunks of colored ice ran down their cheeks alongside tears.

No, she couldn't bring all that up again. She could hardly deal with remembering it herself, and to put Quinn in the shoes of the person throwing - it was too much. And Kurt would be completely biased the moment he knew Quinn was friends with Santana. That Santana was even in their vicinity.

Of course, if Quinn never spoke to her again - if Rachel never took the initiative to speak to her again, they wouldn't have to deal with it at all. And Rachel was beginning to think that that was the case. That Quinn was either respecting her wishes so much that she was going to do nothing, or she simply didn't care, and that their one month relationship would fade into memory along with everything else. She was beginning to think that, until the day she was rehearsing with an understudy, and Quinn walked in, looked at her, and didn't look anywhere else as she came down the aisle of the theater toward the stage.

Rachel almost lost her breath, almost had to stop singing. Quinn was still so remarkably beautiful, so perfect, with her hair a bit windblown and her cheeks pink with the sting of wind. Her lips were set in a line, and her eyes - Rachel had to look away once they were close enough to see properly, but it was no easier to finish with Quinn staring at her, watching her.

"That's enough for today, you'll be fine for tonight and we'll hammer away at it some more tomorrow," Rachel breathed at the end of a verse, and the understudy smiled appreciatively before taking her leave.

Rachel busied herself pulling together her notes and sheet music from the stand. A trombone blew across the room, and a technician cussed as a spark blew from the third spotlight. Quinn stepped closer.

"I've missed you."

Rachel cleared her throat, pulling her things to her chest. "Can I help you with something? I need to get to makeup."

"I just want to talk."

Goddamn that soothing, husky voice.

"I'm at work."

"I know." Quinn came closer, stepping around the music stand. "I was hoping I could convince you to get a drink with me after. Or to come to mine…" Rachel held her breath so she wouldn't be able to smell that Quinn smell, that sweetness… "I know you wanted time and I know a week isn't a lot of time, especially considering what you've found out, but. I don't want this to just be over."

Rachel stepped away, as Quinn's hand reached for hers - but instantly regretted it when she saw the look on that gorgeous face. "I don't...I don't want it to be, either," she admitted, hugging her music. "But you know what I went through, and I don't know how to put this all together so I can even start to get over it. Why didn't you just tell me from the beginning who you were?"

"I did." Quinn sighed, closing her beautiful eyes for a moment. "This is who I am now. That other person isn't me. But you're right, I should've told you what I was like. I shouldn't have cut out every flaw I was afraid you'd hate, but you have to understand how...ashamed I am. I hate what I've done. I hate it."

"Then why?" Rachel snapped reflexively. "I try to understand bullies, I do. I've tried to for years, and I've made up excuses for them in my head. They're just insecure, they're just jealous, they're just hormonal, but I don't get it. How is any of that an excuse to do what you people do? And how is that _you_, Quinn? You are so kind...and so smart, I don't believe you just didn't _know any better_."

Quinn didn't answer for so long Rachel thought she wasn't going to get one at all. "I was angry. And no, that's not an excuse. There is no excuse. But that's why."

Rachel huffed. "Angry about _what_?"

She shrugged, almost helplessly, as if she wasn't quite sure. "At the world? Society? My family, my father? The fact that I was gay and hated myself didn't help much. And Santana…" Quinn paused when Rachel grimaced. "And Santana was going through the same things. She was angry for the same reasons. But we grew out of it, together. We realized we were gay, we changed who we were, together."

"She doesn't seem that different to me," she scoffed.

Quinn heaved a sigh. "She's...never going to stop being who she is. But she's not as cruel as she used to be, only when she feels defensive and that night, she didn't expect to see you."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "As if _she_ has a right to feel defensive about seeing _me_!"

"She's just as ashamed as I am."

She shook her head, tapping her foot briefly on the stage floor. The technician was climbing down, and a few more instruments had joined the trombone in practicing. Quinn moved closer again.

"Rachel, please. Say something."

Reluctantly, she peered up into those searching hazel eyes, as they darted back and forth. Begging, pleading, questioning. Rachel didn't know what to say. It made sense, she supposed. All teenagers were angry, and to be repressed on top of it, of course Quinn was furious. Like David Karofsky, the boy who'd threatened to kill Kurt. Rachel vaguely wondered if Quinn had ever threatened to kill anyone.

But Quinn had become the person she was today, the sweet, gentle, perfect person. Who helped out LGBT centers and an...anti-bullying center. Out of guilt? Did it matter? She'd done it. With Santana. They became new people. Together. They discovered they were gay… Together.

Rachel frowned slowly. "Did you ever sleep with her?"

Quinn sucked in a breath. And that was all the answer Rachel needed. She stepped away as fast as she had that horrible night. She really did have to get into makeup.


	18. Part 18

**Part 18**

Another week had gone by and this time, Quinn didn't try to call even once. Rachel took that as confirmation of what she'd guessed at. Quinn was not only friends with Santana, she'd had a sexual relationship with her. When didn't particularly matter - it had happened, and Rachel couldn't get the images out of her head now. Not just of Quinn and Santana, _together_, but of Quinn the bully, alongside Santana. Spewing vicious insults at the people around them, throwing slushies, cackling.

And when Rachel slept, whenever she could get to sleep, it was no easier, because instead of cruel, vicious Quinn bullying and sleeping with Santana, she dreamt of sweet, gentle Quinn...talking and sleeping with _her_. And then Rachel would wake trembling, in need of release, and then she'd think of how Santana probably needed the same from Quinn at one point, and it started all over again.

Rachel really shouldn't have been so torn up about all this. It had only been a month long relationship. Only a month. A wonderful month. A special month. A sweet and gentle and happy month in which she'd gotten to know this beautiful-beyond-words blonde who treated her well and kissed her like they were already lovers.

She had taken to eating way too much soy ice cream on her day off, thinking about all this, stabbing at the frozen cream with her spoon vengefully whenever she remembered the deceit, when there was a buzz from the wall. She clambered off the couch with a sigh, taking her ice cream with her to the door, where she hit the intercom.

"Who is it?"

"Delivery for Rachel Berry."

Rachel scowled instantly. "You can return it to sender, Santana Lopez."

A sigh crackled through. "Come on, let me in, Berry. We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Well, that's fine, because I have plenty to say to you and I'm not leaving until I say it." A pause, while Rachel crinkled her nose. "You have to leave your apartment eventually, Berry, and I will stand out here until you do. You know I will."

Shit. Rachel tapped her thumb on the speaker for a few moments, contemplating her ice cream. She did not want Santana in her space, in her _home_. She also didn't want to go out into the cold, or have her dirty laundry aired in front of all her neighbors and New York City. And Santana _would_ stay out there until she let her in or left the building, and then she would follow Rachel. So the fastest way to get her to leave was to let her in.

Rachel grimaced and pushed the buzzer. While she waited for the Devil to arrive, she shoved the ice cream back in the freezer and rinsed off her spoon, tossing it into the sink, and ran to her bedroom to change from frumpy sweatpants and a sweater into something presentable, a skirt and top she grabbed at random. It may have only been Santana visiting, but she sure as hell wasn't going to give her any fuel with a poor appearance. She managed to run the brush through her hair twice before the dreaded knock came.

With a few bracing breaths, she made her way back across the apartment and cracked open the door, peering out at a smirk. "How did you find out where I live?"

Santana's eyebrows popped up. "I copied your address from Q's book. Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Rachel scowled. "Are you going to make a scene if I don't?"

"Let's put it this way - your neighbors will know you as that heart breakin' dyke if you don't."

"A simple yes would've sufficed," she growled, but opened the door nonetheless.

Santana strolled on in as if nothing was unusual. As if she'd been to Rachel's apartment a million times. She even shrugged off her coat and purse, hanging them up on the rack before she started giving herself a tour of the kitchen and living room.

"Nice place, Berry. You must be doing pretty well for yourself." She plucked up a banana from the fruit bowl and started peeling.

"Please, help yourself," she deadpanned, arms settling across her chest.

"Thanks." Santana grinned cheekily and plopped into a chair, swinging her feet up on the kitchen table - Rachel grimaced. "So, let me get right to it."

"Please do."

"Q's a fuckin' mess."

Rachel leaned herself against the wall, eyes dropping to her own bare feet. "She is?"

"Uh, yeah. All she wants to do anymore is sit in bed with her damn cat. Thanks to you, she's back to thinking she's the bitch of the world and nothing she ever does can make up for the horrible life she's lead up to now." Santana bit off a huge chunk of banana.

She shook her head mildly, wrinkling her nose as she watched her chew. "I never said that."

Santana gulped. "You didn't have to say anything. All you had to do was walk away."

Her arms tightened. "She lied to me."

She rolled her eyes. "She didn't _lie_, she just didn't tell you _everything_. Have you told her everything?"

"Like the fact that she slept with you?"

Santana scoffed. "Oh, come on. That was like, a million years ago and we were both _hammered_. Hardly even remember it. Well. I remember some things." She grinned lecherously, and Rachel's stomach turned.

"Why should I bother then? You're just going to steal her anyway, it's what you do," she mumbled.

Santana's feet clonked to the floor. "_Please_. I'm engaged."

Rachel's eyes went wide. "What? Engaged? You? To who?"

"Brittany. Duh."

"Brittany _Pierce_?"

"Duuuuuuh," Santana mocked.

"But you two...you treated her horribly! Not as bad as me, granted, but for being your 'secret' lover and your best friend, I mean - "

"Well, Brittany forgave me. After I pulled my head out of my ass."

Rachel frowned, watching Santana pop up and toss the banana peel to her garbage - not the food garbage. She sighed.

"Look, Berry. Q has a lot of shame about a lot of things. She's not gonna go around advertising them to the person she thinks is 'the one.' She didn't get lucky like me and Britts. We already know everything about each other; we know the worst stuff, and we accept each other. Whoever Q meets, and she thinks it's you, she has to confess all the bad. And hope they stay and love who she is now anyway. You headed for the hills like a pussy. And don't give me the 'I was bullied and she was a bully' shit, she didn't bully _you_. And you have no idea what she's been through trying to make up for it, or what she went through that _made her_ a bully.

"And as far as her friendship with me goes, it's got nothing to do with you. You got a problem with me, don't take it out on her. Now, personally, I still don't like you, cause now you're a little chickenshit. But you can prove me wrong by showing up to the wedding. Q's got a plus one, and I'm assuming it was for you, anyway, so here."

Santana flicked a piece of paper across the table, and Rachel smacked her hand down on it before it could fly off. She stared across at Santana, who smirked, brushed off her hands, and headed toward the door.

"She thinks I'm the one?" Rachel squeaked, before she could stop herself.

Santana only paused long enough to say, "That's what she told me." And then she was gone.


	19. Part 19

**Part 19**

Rachel spent several minutes sitting at her kitchen table, staring down at the wedding invitation after Santana left. Quinn thought she was the one. The One. Well, if Santana was telling the truth, anyway. Rachel wasn't sure she'd ever be able to fully trust anything Santana ever said to her after four years of having slushies dumped down her shirt and innumerable drag queen penis jokes. But Santana seemed to care about Quinn, in her way. Why else would she come to Rachel's home?

But Rachel was still conflicted, and she didn't even know why anymore. She needed to talk to someone, to suss the situation out, and as usual, the only candidate was Kurt. She stopped by the bakery for a fresh bag of doughnuts before she went off to his apartment, stuffing them in his face first thing before they settled down at the kitchen table with Blaine. She told them everything: how things had been going so well and they'd been fooling around, and then Santana showed up - Kurt nearly choked on his doughnut at the mere mention of her name, and it took several poundings on the back from Blaine for him to recover and gesture for Rachel to go on - and that Quinn was a bully in her high school days and she had slept with Santana - apparently a long time ago while drunk - and that they were still friends, but both were supposedly changed women.

She clasped her fingers tight together when she'd finished, and the boys just looked at her. "So. What do you think?"

Kurt brushed the sugar off his fingers. "She's definitely not a serial killer, though?"

She rolled her eyes. "Kurt!"

"I think you're sixteen."

Rachel frowned at him, and he just looked back at her, arms folded. Blaine shrugged.

"I'm twenty three - "

"Not right now you aren't," Kurt continued. "The second you saw Santana, you turned back into a sixteen year old girl being pelted with slushies. I know, because for a minute when you mentioned her, I did, too. Except for the girl part."

"It's completely understandable," Blaine interjected. "Being faced with someone who demeaned you, it's rough." He smiled sympathetically.

Rachel looked between them. "That tells me nothing I didn't already know. _Help_, please."

Kurt heaved a sigh. "What we're saying is that you're overreacting because you're freaked out over having that bitch back in your life. And thus taking it out on poor Quinn."

"Did you forget the part where I said she bullied people, too?"

"No, but honestly, I'm not really surprised." Off her look, he went on, "Girls who look like that? Bitchy. They grow up with this sense of entitlement, better than everybody. Combine that with the pack mentality of a cheerleading squad and bam, you have got yourself an alpha bitch."

Rachel sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. "Quinn said she was angry."

Blaine's brow furrowed. "At you?"

"No, when she was a bully. She was just furious, so she took it out on other people."

"That would explain the trust issues," Kurt commented, and Blaine nodded his agreement.

Neither of them bothered to explain, instead splitting a doughnut.

Rachel huffed. "How, exactly?"

"Displacement," Kurt supplied. "You know, Freud? 'Daddy hits me, so I'm gonna kick the dog'?"

She blinked, glancing between them. "You're saying she was abused?"

Kurt shrugged. "Maybe. Look, the bottom line is, do you still want to be with Quinn?"

Rachel gnawed on her bottom lip, thinking of that sweet and tender smile, sweet and tender kisses… "Yes."

"Are you sure?" Blaine piped up.

"Yes." She nodded. "She's...she's wonderful, she's just wonderful."

"Are you _sure_?" Kurt stared at her, narrowing his eyes.

Rachel frowned. "_Yes_. Are you _trying_ to get me to change my mind?"

Kurt shook his head. "Course not. Just making sure it's what you really want, because you seem to be making a hell of a lot of excuses not to get it."

"They're not excuses! The fact that she used to treat people horribly and she slept with the person who I hate the most in this world - and you know I don't use the word hate lightly, Kurt Hummel - and didn't tell me about any of that, let alone that she knew Santana, these are valid reasons to question whether this relationship is a good idea." Rachel scowled, puffing a bit while the boys just looked at her, waiting. "And yes, I know that she doesn't treat people horribly _now_. Now she's kind and polite to everyone unless they're rude or say something stupid like Dante does all the time, and I know I don't really have a right to be mad over who she slept with before she even met me, but it's _Santana_. And maybe I shouldn't even judge Santana on what she was like a few years ago, but she's never even apologized. Not once has she shown any regret for her actions. And I know that Quinn has, that she tries to make up for it every day, because she's wonderful that way, and you know, she probably didn't tell me because she didn't want to dredge up something that was painful for _me_, in addition to wanting our relationship to work out and being ashamed of what she was like, because she's very considerate like that. But...I guess...I just don't know if I'm willing to have Santana back in my life. Even for Quinn."

Rachel steamed a few moments, staring down at the glossy table and tracing a little circle around the dark veins in the wood's pattern. Both boys were quiet for a while, but soon enough Kurt's hand covered Rachel's own, capturing her attention again.

"You know what happened, don't you?" When Rachel shook her head, Kurt petted her hand with his thumb and smiled in sympathy. "You built Quinn up in your head as this model, if you will, of perfection. And as soon as you found out she's human like the rest of us, you headed for the hills."

Rachel lightly pinched his finger between hers. "That was a lame pun. And that's not true. She used to be a smoker; I don't like smokers."

"It's not the same thing," Blaine cut in. They both looked at him, so he cleared his throat. "Smoking is outside of a person. It's not indicative of personality, except _maybe_ having an addictive one. But having been a bully, that's not something Quinn can change. It's who she was."

Rachel reluctantly conceded that point with her silence, and Kurt squeezed her hand.

"Just like she can't really change that Santana's her friend. And I doubt you'd ask her to do that."

She shook her head. "No, of course not. I mean, as much as I hate it, she must mean a lot to her. They've known each other so long…"

"So you have to decide if you're willing to settle for less than perfect. And we can't help you with that."

Rachel frowned, twisting her mouth this way and that. "The thing is...Quinn is still perfect to me. Even with Santana in the picture. She was trying to protect me, and she's obviously done so much to change and I can't imagine what kind of strength that took. Changing her entire outlook and behavior... Even now, she's done nothing but follow my wishes. I've never been treated with so much...respect. She's just wonderful. There's no other word."

Kurt was smiling at her. "So, that leaves the big question. Does all that make it worth having Santana in your life?"

And when Rachel thought about it, there was really no question.


	20. Part 20

**Part 20**

The boys asked Rachel to stay for dinner, but she was too eager to wait. She went straight back to her apartment after exchanging a few grateful hugs with them, showering and freshening up in a proper dress and makeup there. Two stops along the way later, she was standing outside Quinn's intimidatingly tall apartment building and, once she got up the courage, tapping the buzzer at increasingly smaller intervals, until finally the speaker crackled and that husky voice filtered through.

"Who is it?"

Rachel gnawed her lip - suddenly struck with the prospect that Quinn might not let her in at all. What if she'd waited too long? What if Quinn was ready to move on, or angry with her for getting so angry? No. Of course not, Santana had _just_ been at her place that afternoon, had _just_ said she was a mess over things. She bolstered her courage again and hit the button.

"It's Rachel. Can I come up? Please?"

Silence ticked by. Rachel counted to herself. One, two, three, four, five, six, sev - the door buzzed, and Rachel lunged for it before Quinn could change her mind, trotting straight for the elevator and wringing the bag straps in her hands while she watched the numbers go up and up and up. It was ridiculous, how slow elevators were, she decided - and then praised it when it finally let her onto the right floor and she sprang across the hall to knock on Quinn's door. It swung open almost instantly, and there she was in a robe and lounge pants - perfect and gorgeous and sexy and cute, tilting her head down at Rachel with such confusion and curiosity sparking in those brilliant hazel eyes, and it took every microbe of willpower Rachel had not to spring herself into Quinn's arms right on the spot.

Instead, she reached into her pocket, fished out the invitation, and thrust it forward. "I believe Santana co-opted this from your apartment?"

Quinn grasped it slowly, nodding when realization dawned. "Oh. I'm...sorry. She didn't - "

Rachel shook her head, sensing the question. "She was perfectly nice, for Santana," she assured, smiling, and Quinn nodded again.

"Good."

Quinn wasn't quite meeting her eyes, and though it panged, Rachel understood. She'd caused her shame over something she was already quite ashamed about, after all, made her think no amount of change could make a difference so long as one's past remained the same. But that wasn't true. Rachel just forgot, in the haze of teenage memories, that she knew people changed and past grievances were forgotten or at least forgiven. She'd learned that in glee, the multitude of times she'd hurt their chances. And now it was time to admit those inhumane mistakes of her own. She sucked in a breath.

"I sent a girl to an inactive crackhouse once."

Finally, Quinn was looking right at her, quite taken aback. "What?"

Rachel grimaced a smile. "It was junior year of high school, when I told you we got some new members in glee club? Well, this one girl was so good - almost as good as me - and everyone in the glee club liked her, because she was sweet and shy and demure. Nothing like me, especially back then. So, I got so jealous that when they told me to tell her where auditions were, I gave her the address for an inactive crackhouse. She ended up going to a different school after that."

She twisted the bag back and forth, letting it hit her knees as she peered anxiously at a silent, processing Quinn. Once her pink lips pressed shut again, Rachel took that as her cue to continue.

"It's probably the meanest thing I've ever done in my entire life. Aside from completely freaking out on you over things that _you_ did when you were just a stupid teenager, instead of recognizing that you are still the exact same person I've been falling for all along. Even better because you did things that were wrong and you recognized it and you changed it. That's remarkable to me. Now that I'm not all wrapped up in seeing the person who made my life miserable again after almost five years, anyway." She smiled self-deprecatingly.

Quinn wasn't quite looking at her again. "You were completely justified in...'freaking out.' It's not - "

"Maybe at first. But at the theater, I was cruel, and I'm sorry for that. Those questions...they weren't really for you. They're what I've always wondered about _her_. Well, except the last question and I'm sorry for that one, too, because I had no right to ask or to make you try to justify your past...things. It's just once I realized you two might've...I had to know if I didn't want the what if to haunt me and then I didn't really want to know once I knew and it made me freak out even more."

A pink tongue ran out over Quinn's bottom lip as she took a breath. "It didn't mean anything. To either of us. We were drunk and curious and it only happened once, years ago, when we were still in high school. And I'd never want it to happen again."

Rachel smiled. "I believe you. I do. You've never given me any reason not to."

"I lied to you," she mumbled, not looking - again.

"You didn't tell me. There's a difference. And even though I would've preferred to have known about Santana being in your life _before_ she came barging in on us in the middle of things - " Quinn's cheeks went adorably pink " - I understand why you didn't tell me, and you couldn't really help it that she showed up when she did, before you could tell me. Neither could she, actually. And as far as the rest, I understand why you didn't tell me that, too. Besides, we've only been going out a month, we can't exactly know _everything_ about each other yet, can we?"

Quinn didn't have an answer to that, it seemed, so Rachel finally took a brave step forward, into her line of vision, so that they finally met eyes. Quinn's beautiful hazel eyes sparked once or twice when Rachel smiled up at her, so she grinned until Quinn was finally wearing a tiny smile of her own.

"So. If you're not too scared off by _my_ horrible high school self, then I'd like us to maybe pick up where we left off?" Rachel lifted the bag up to her waist. "I'll cook you dinner? We can talk?"

Quinn tapped the wedding invitation on her fingers, smiling faintly, gently. "Okay."

She went to open the door wider, and Rachel sprung forward before she realized -

"Oh! I forgot this!"

She dug into the bag, producing a bouquet of rues and violet roses, to which Quinn just seemed to stare, wide-eyed. Rachel gnawed her lip.

"They're for you," she tried, and Quinn's lip twitched. "I would've baked my standard 'I'm sorry' cookies, but I didn't really have time, so, flowers. Of course, only the rue means 'I'm sorry,' but they looked a little bare on their own, so. Roses." She smiled brightly.

Quinn nodded slowly - finally - and carefully pried them from Rachel's grasp, breathing in their combined smell, and then peering at Rachel from beneath her lashes. "And what do the roses mean?"

Rachel instantly flushed bright red, but she breathed, "Well. Different colors mean different things, but...violet means...love at first sight."

Quinn's arm curled around her waist and then they were kissing again as if nothing bad had happened between now and the last time. Quinn tasted like herbal tea and her robe was fluffy and warm, a comfort to sink into as Rachel hugged both arms tight around her narrow body and leaned up against her, breathing a happy sigh through her nose. She had the tenderest lips in the world, Rachel decided, and she was in such a thick fog of delight she completely missed Quinn closing the door behind her and drawing her to the couch until they were on it - again - and Quinn was setting aside the bag and flowers and wedding invitation. And once all that was out of the way, Quinn turned her attention to getting Rachel's winter garb off of her, and Rachel giggled, nudging noses between kisses.

"I want to cook you dinner," she whined, even as Quinn tugged her gloves from each finger and then kissed her palms.

"I've missed you."

The husked words brought a smile and a blush to Rachel's face, even moreso when Quinn set to unraveling the scarf from her neck and then kissing it, slow, sweet kisses. Rachel hooked her fingers in Quinn's robe, pulling her closer, hugging around her shoulders and breathing in - vanilla and happiness.

"I've missed you, too."

Quinn's voice came muffled this time, from beneath her hair, against her neck. "Then let me show you for a while. And then you can make dinner."

Another kiss to her neck, and Rachel couldn't have denied that request if she'd tried. Which she didn't, particularly. In fact, she curled Quinn tighter into her embrace and leaned back, drawing her back on top like they'd been a couple of weeks ago before that rude interruption. She wrapped her legs around Quinn's waist for good measure, and they lay there like that, exchanging long, lazy kisses and tangling tighter and tighter together.

Until a fuzzy orange cat hopped up on the coffee table and yowled so loudly Rachel was caught somewhere between laughing and jumping in fright. Quinn just sighed, long-sufferingly.

"Rachel, meet Beezy. He's Santana in cat form."

"And interrupts just like her, too," Rachel giggled, and Quinn smiled down at her, eyes sparkling brightly. "So I guess it's dinner time?"

Beezy purred his agreement.


	21. Part 21

**Part 21**

While Quinn prepared Beezy's meal of a mix of some fancy brand of wet food and dry food she'd never heard of, Rachel busied herself familiarizing herself with Quinn's kitchen and getting dinner around. She wasn't the most fabulous cook in the world, but it was the least she could do, considering all the trouble Quinn had gone to memorizing a vegan recipe for her last time. Fortunately, Quinn had a very well organized kitchen. Everything had its place and it all seemed to be grouped in appropriate categories according to what was most likely to be used together, like the measuring cups next to the mixer. Rachel adored it. The only thing missing were printed labels.

Quinn returned from the upstairs portion of the apartment sans orange demon, stopping to scoop up the wedding invitation on her way back to the kitchen, where Rachel was busy stirring noodles. She offered a brilliant smile when Quinn found her way onto a stool, where Rachel had perched herself the last time, and tapped the paper on the countertop. Quinn's smile was thin, and Rachel staved off worry by leaning over for a kiss - which was quickly returned.

But as soon as she pulled away, Quinn was breathing in, in that troublesome way, and then she said, "I'm sorry Santana went to you. She shouldn't have." She paused, but Rachel sensed more. "You're sure she wasn't…?"

She reached across the island to squeeze Quinn's fingers. "She was Santana. So, she called me a chickenshit, but - " Quinn's expression dropped and darkened chillingly, so Rachel rushed on " - she wasn't all wrong. I was being stupid about you. Besides, she's called me much worse." A quick peck, and then the water threatened to bubble over, so Rachel darted back to the pot.

"I'm sorry," Quinn said faintly.

She bobbed her shoulders easily now. She still didn't like thinking about it, but - "It's not your fault."

"Maybe how she treated you in the past isn't, but. It's different now." Quinn's voice was strained, uncomfortable, but Rachel didn't dare turn around, waiting with baited breath. "She's my friend, but you're… I care very much about you. And when I think of what she might've done, or said to you, I can't look at her. But I can't judge her, either, because I've done the same. I guess I don't really know what to do with all this. I just know that I want you in my life, and…"

"Her, too?" Rachel prompted, when she turned to find Quinn only staring down at the invitation, smoothing its edges out with the pads of her fingers. The blonde head nodded, almost reluctantly, and Rachel lowered the flame on the stove and turned to Quinn, leaning her elbows on the island and brushing their thumbs together. "I've been trying to figure out why you like her, you know, why she's in your life, because what I remember of her and what I know of you - you're _so_ different. She's rude and loud and brash and vulgar, and you are the exact opposite. And it's not that I have to understand, anymore than you have to understand why Kurt and I are friends, but I'd like to. I mean, outside of the fact that you just like loud, brutally honest people like me and her." Rachel grinned, ducking her head to get a peek at Quinn's eyes before she realized and wrinkled her nose. "Oh, God. I just compared myself to Santana."

That started a chuckle out of Quinn, at least, and Rachel relaxed back into a smile until she spoke up again, squeezing Rachel's thumbs.

"Well, it's not always easy, being her friend. You're right, she's rude and insulting and fairly gross at times. But sometimes she's not. Sometimes she's gentle and comforting, and it's a side only her bride to be usually sees, but…" Quinn paused, something shifting in her expression, and Rachel settled further onto her elbows, biting on her lip. "When I came out to my father, he said I wasn't his daughter and that I was going to hell, and I...threw it back in his face that he cheated on my mom, so he smacked me and kicked me out." Rachel reflexively gripped tighter onto Quinn's hands. "I went to Santana's place and she just hugged me all night, until I fell asleep. And then, you know, she went to his house and spray painted 'Homo Hater' on his car…"

Rachel couldn't help but laugh, covering her own mouth immediately in shame. "I'm sorry. Go on."

Quinn flashed her teeth briefly and shook her head. "It's okay. After that, she just gave me the tough love approach like she always does. But she's just, she's been there. When I need her. And I never really thought about the other side of her, the side you had to deal with."

She gnawed her bottom lip, considering. "Well. I can't promise that I'll ever like her. Especially since she doesn't exactly seem raring and ready to apologize, so I'm pretty much just taking your word for it that she's changed at all. And while I don't want you going stag to this wedding and meeting some charming, pretty single lady, I just don't think I'm ready to attend that kind of - "

"Wait, wait, wait." Quinn was holding up a hand, and Rachel pressed her lips shut tight. "I didn't ask you to come to the wedding with me."

She tilted her head. "I know, but Santana said the plus one was for me when she gave it to me, so I - "

"Well, it is, technically. They wanted me to have a plus one for the person I was dating, but Rachel. I would _never_ ask you to attend the wedding of someone who bullied you," Quinn said emphatically. "And I _don't_...expect you to like her or spend time with her or… I don't expect anything, Rachel. Least of all for you to put yourself in a situation where you're going to be uncomfortable just for me."

Rachel stared over at bright hazel eyes, intent and sincere, and she just wanted to lean over and kiss those pretty pink lips until the sun came back up - but she held back for the moment, pouting her lower lip even more.

"But. I mean, I don't want to be uncomfortable, either, but relationships are about compromise and...Santana's your friend and. I want to be reasonable. I want to compromise. I want to make you happy."

Quinn's smile lit up even that sterile kitchen, and Rachel couldn't resist coming closer to a curled finger for a long, lingering kiss. They nudged noses lightly when they managed to pry themselves apart, tickling each other's lips with their breath, and Rachel giggled through a grin as Quinn teased the tip of her nose upward.

"You've made me happy. You're accepting me, despite my past. Despite Santana. And you don't have to see her again, as long as it can be helped," Quinn murmured.

Rachel couldn't resist giving her another kiss, but still protested once she'd pulled away, "Isn't that going to be hard on you? Keeping your friend and your...date completely separate like that?"

Quinn's shoulders shrugged. "They already are separate. She has nothing to do with us."

"Are you sure?"

Their noses brushed as Quinn nodded her head, batting her lashes becomingly. "Positive. From now on, she's not with us when we're together."

Rachel smiled, cheeks warming. "Right. Not even mentioned."

"Unless you want to tell me about…" Quinn's throat bobbed in a swallow, a finger tracing along Rachel's jaw. "But only then."

She couldn't help herself - she turned her head to kiss Quinn's hand, then her wrist, then her nose, then her lips. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For respecting me."

Quinn dug her teeth into her bottom lip. "I want you to trust me."

Rachel smiled. "I do."

"Good." Finally, Quinn smiled back. "So trust me when I say I think the noodles are done."

She nodded beyond Rachel, who cursed and whipped about to calm the boiling, churning waters. Fortunately, the noodles weren't overdone and dinner was salvaged. They took it into the dining room again, where Quinn lit some candles and Rachel poured the wine she'd bought on the way, and spent the rest of the evening talking like always, in the dining room first, while the flames flickered lower and lower, and after another impromptu performance from Rachel, they traveled back to the couch with their wine. Beezy joined them there, purring comfortably on Quinn's lap, and Rachel, too, fell asleep against Quinn's warm, cozy side, listening to her sweet, husky voice describing the rich juice of a fresh Georgia peach.


End file.
